


Carry That Weight

by Tigerine (sealink)



Series: Heavy Rotation [1]
Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Bad Ending, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mind Control, Terrorism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-01-06 14:23:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sealink/pseuds/Tigerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aoba has failed at Koujaku's Scrap and Toue is proceeding with his plans to control Midorijima. Mink, still hungry for vengeance, will make deals with anyone to make sure he succeeds in bringing Toue down. Anyone including rival Rib teams, a plucky old lady, and one enigmatic gas mask. But there's a high price for revenge--his own heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the larger world setting for my small Minkuri smut piece "In The Middle Of The Celebrations" (formerly 'Boy You're Gonna Carry That Weight'). If you have read that, it takes place much further down the line in this story; this is the beginning of Mink and Clear's relationship, as colleagues, companions, friends and lovers. 
> 
> my tumblr: tigerine.tumblr.com  
> tracked tags: #tigerine  
> Please don't be afraid to send me asks; I love hearing from you (even you anons!)

“Get inside, quickly!”

Mink stands with his back to the wall, an assault rifle held up against his chest. The other Scratch members run into the cavernous underground, the abandoned parking garage that hides the entrance and exit of their hideout. This time, however, alongside the heavy thuds of booted feet and the clatter of guns are the small, weak footsteps of children and elderly, the hesitant scraping feet of frightened people looking over their shoulders and hoping they can hear nothing of the loudspeakers in the Old Residents' District.

Mink transfers the rifle to his other hand and motions a Scratch member over. The man approaches with the muzzle of his gun pointed at the ground. Mink reaches up to his ear and taps it. The man nods and pops out one of his earplugs. “We don't know which ones have been affected. When you find them, separate them.”

The man shoves the earplug back into his ear and nods smartly at Mink, moving into the shadows of the building.

Mink turns and stares across the field of rubble at the line of buildings that marks the western part of the Old Residents' district. Another wave of stragglers pours forth from the alleys. The wail of police sirens in the distance drowns out any lingering traces of that awful song from the loudspeakers.

He wasn't sure at first of how the song worked, but the first time it played over the wireless, three of his men started a brawl. They'd been good friends up until the moment someone threw the first punch. They were in the cells now, but another fight broke out the next time the song played. After that, the radios were destroyed. One of the men in the cells said that music was now being played in Aoyagi Street. It didn't take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.

Mink's orders to Scratch were unquestioned. His two lieutenants tried to pass the word to the best of their ability, but their actions were restricted by the broadcast times of the three songs they identified as problematic.

He had heard nothing of Aoba, the enigmatic man that began this whole thing, or the Japanese dandy Koujaku, the head of Beni-Shigure. The maniac was missing as well, but Mink didn't think he would get swept up in whatever plan Toue was putting into action. That left the gas mask, and he had not been hard to find and instruct.

There is still no sign of gas mask. Beni-Shigure members trail in with their girlfriends behind them, their designer shoes missing heels from stumbling over the rubble. With their head missing, Beni-Shigure needed someone to take control, and while the inner circle had initially refused his overtures, their receptivity had increased once the songs were broadcast. If Koujaku is found alive, he will lead Beni-Shigure again; if he's dead, Beni-Shigure will become part of Scratch. Mink hopes he will not regret extending them his protection, but the truth is that he needs the manpower to manage the refugees and continue operations to bring Toue down.

Mink inspects his Coil, marking the time. Ten more minutes. Ten more minutes and they'll withdraw into the tunnels and bomb the entrance. It is their most convenient way of moving in and out of the Northern district and the rest of the island, but convenience must be sacrificed for security. By choosing to lose this entrance, they lose a highly visible and vulnerable point of attack. It makes life more difficult, but it also makes them more secure, which will matter soon. Sooner than he would like, Mink thinks. Toue would not suffer Scratch and the trouble they were going to make for him. He would try to crack them, try to break them apart and get at their soft insides. Mink is not going to give him the satisfaction.

 The entrance closer to Platinum Jail was more risky, but also benefited from Toue's arrogance. Poorly patrolled and under no surveillance, the entrance to the underground warren near Platinum Jail was ideal for moving in supplies pilfered from Platinum Jail's stockpiles. It would also be the best place from which to move against Toue. Mink's fingers tighten around the barrel of the assault rifle. He wants to move now. His pride demands it, but his rage tells him to wait. Wait and it will come.

 He checks his Coil again. Five minutes. As he lifts his eyes to the line of buildings on the edge of the Western District, a strange figure runs out of an alley, tall, but bent at the waist. Wearing white-- the gas mask. Mink squints against the sun, shading his eyes and then grunting with satisfaction as he sees the figure carried on the gas mask's back. Another bargaining chip in his grasp.

 As Clear approaches, Mink jogs out to meet him, the rifle slung on his back. “You're late. I told you 09:00.”

“What kind of jackass holds another man responsible for the actions of an old woman?” Tae Seragaki says from Clear's back.

“Sorry, Mink-san,” Clear frets, bobbing slightly in a bow and shifting Tae on his back.

“Don't apologize to him,” Tae snaps. “What does he expect, hurrying me out of my home this morning as if something is going on--”

“Get inside. We're about to blow the charges.” Mink steps aside, gesturing to the hole in the ground. Clear hustles over the piles of rubble, surefooted and effortless, almost graceful. He disappears into the darkness. Mink turns, the rifle ready, finger near the safety. The other Scratch members back into the hole, lowering their gun muzzles as they turn to go inside. Mink follows behind them: first in, last out.

The charges they have set are designed to drop a section of the floor and seal the tunnels without causing the entire structure to come crashing down on their heads. Still, Mink insists on a wired detonation; Toue controls the wireless frequencies and Mink wants to give him no advance knowledge of their actions. He disliked discussing things over Coil before Toue began moving forward with his plans; now, he refuses to discuss most things with any method but face-to-face conversation.

The retreating backs of his men follow the yellow bundles of detonator cabling back to Sajima, his engineer. He is one of the most loyal members of Scratch, standing at Mink's side as they escaped from the prison yard with as many hands as they could manage. Mink had seen his utility then, but he might even say that he now trusts Sajima Hiroshi, as far as Mink has dared to trust anyone since he began this crusade all those years ago. At the least, they have an understanding.

“Do it,” Mink says as he walks past, tossing Sajima his detonator key and turning to look down the tunnel.

Sajima nods, a cigarette dangling out of his mouth as he opens the detonator control box and jams Mink's key into the controls. He wrenches them to the side and flips open the cover on the ignition switch. With a look at Mink, Sajima flips it.

A series of dull thuds echoes down the tunnel. Mink closes his eyes and draws his headband down over his nose and mouth and then the roar of the collapse and a wall of dust engulfs them.

Shouldering his rifle, Mink nods to Sajima, who nods back and begins to disconnect the detonator cabling, leaving it in place and picking up the suitcase-sized detonator and carrying it with him. Sajima and Mink fall into step with two members of Scratch who waited behind, aspiring to be like their leader: first in, last out. The hideout is half a kilometer ahead through tunnels, poorly lit by glowsticks. Dropped by Scratch to light the way through to safety for Beni-Shigure and the refugees, they provide ghoulish light and dancing shadows to the last team through. The guards stand up straighter as Mink approaches them; he passes them without a word, Sajima close behind, pushing up his glasses. When everyone is inside, they roll a door over the opening and lock it in place with steel bars and padlocks.

Mink hands off his rifle to someone and pushes his headband back up over his forehead. There is still much to do. He walks to the stairs, going up two levels to the ground floor. This building was a health club once upon a time, back before Toue bought it and carved a despot's paradise out of the populace. The refugees are waiting for him in the racquetball courts.

As Mink approaches, one of the Scratch members outside the court walks up to meet him. “Boss, that guy...”

Mink turns his head to follow the man's pointed finger. Beyond the grimy plastic wall, a group of refugees is huddled together, far nearer to each other than they would ever be out in the District, almost as if they need the warmth. Standing in front of them is gas mask, his arms spread.

“He started singin' as soon as we put him in there,” the guy says.

Mink folds his arms, watching his back. Was he singing with the gas mask on? The echo in the court garbles the song and the Plexiglass wall muffles the melody, but he's quite sure he's never heard it before. For a moment, Mink hesitates to open the door in front of him.

“He's got a nice voice.”

Mink turns his head, looking at his subordinate. His subordinate almost doesn't seem to notice Mink's appraisal, eyes fixed on Clear. At last, Mink turns his gaze back on Clear. “Yeah.”

Mink opens the door, stepping into the court. Clear stops singing almost immediately, the song ringing hauntingly around the walls. He moves off to the side, and Mink catches sight of Tae Seragaki in the back part of the crowd. She'd have to be carefully guarded.

“It's been a rough morning for everyone,” he starts, well aware of his audience of children and families. “We have a small dormitory set up for you, but everyone will have to take turns sharing chores and keeping things in order.”

The faces of the children bother him the most, because Mink can see that they don't understand why they've been pulled out of bed, why they're in a filthy, abandoned gymnasium, why their beds are no longer safe.  
“We do have some rules here that I'll ask you to abide by. The first is that my word is law. When I say you do something, do not question me.”

One of a group of three children, vaguely familiar in their cheeky attitude, pipes up. “What if we don't?”

Mink simply stares at him, letting his intimidating height and silence do the persuading. The young boy shrinks back down, huddling with his brother and sister.

“The second rule is that no one goes outside without permission. If you do, we may not let you back in. Your life will be forfeit.”

Their silence is acceptance to him, and he looks across the group of worried faces. “It will be difficult, but hopefully we will have a resolution before the situation gets bad.” He walks around the edge of the crowd to Clear and Tae, standing next to them.

“If I am not around, ask Granny here for permission before you do anything.”

“Hey, you can't-!”

Mink silences her with a glare and lowers his mouth to her ear. “I obey you in your house. Obey me in mine,” he murmurs.

Tae returns his glare, but for once, does not argue. She turns to look back at the crowd, at their knitted brows and drawn mouths. “Everyone has to work together to make sure we make it through this, okay?”

Gas mask has been watching Mink and his interactions with Tae; as Tae makes her pronouncement of support, he turns his head towards Mink.  
“Gas mask, follow me,” Mink says in a low voice.

“Eh? Me?” Clear replies, pointing at himself.

Mink walks toward the door, turning to the gathering one last time. “My men will escort you to your quarters.”

Clear follows him out of the court, continuing to say his name as they walk toward one end of the building, each inquisitive chirp and wheedling sound muffled by the filters on the mask. “Mink-san? Mink-”

Mink stops suddenly, whipping around and bringing his face close to the gas mask. “Do you always talk this much?”

“No, I just want to know where we're going.”

Mink narrows his eyes, looking over the mask. “You'll find out when we get there.” He turns and continues walking; booted footsteps echo behind him. They reach the other end of the building, opposite of the crude entrance, and go down two flights of stairs. Clear follows him dutifully, hands in his pockets; he doesn't say Mink's name as they walk. When they reach the bottom, Mink turns the corner. Where an exit mirroring the entrance should be, there is only rubble. Built against the wall are a series of ramshackle holding cells made out of roughly-welded rebar and steel I-beams.

“This is the Clink,” Mink says by way of introduction.

“The... Clink,” Clear parrots, struggling with the sounds.

“Sometimes things get out of hand,” Mink continues, gesturing at the cells. “If it's not serious, I throw them in here to cool off."

“Serious?”

Mink grunts. “If they disobey me, it's serious.”

“What happens when it's serious?”

Mink shrugs, brushing off the question. “We recently had trouble with some songs made by Toue.”

“Toue...” Clear stops in his tracks. His voice is confused, but cautious. “He's using songs...?”

Mink stops as well, turning to look at Clear. “You know something about Toue?”

Clear hesitates before nodding slowly.

Mink stares at him. “Tell me.”

“Some of Toue's inventions have the ability to produce Grand Music that--”

“Grand Music?”

Clear nods, the lenses on his mask glinting under the bare fluorescent lights. “Toue has always wanted to use music to control people." His hands come out of his pockets, crisping together nervously. "If he has finally moved ahead with his plans--”

Mink's voice sounds dangerously calm. “How do you know this?”

“My grandfather used to work for Toue,” Clear replies cheerily, rocking slightly on his heels, sounding proud to speak of someone he's known.

Mink takes this in, his eyes looking Clear over, from his strange mask to his white boots. With a last look at the bug-eyed lenses, Mink turns back to walk down the row of cells.

In the last two cells, six men sit listlessly, staring out at nothing. They do not lift their heads at the sound of Mink's boots, or the shuffling of Clear behind him. There's no sign of consciousness as Mink presses a new pipe bowl with his thumb and sucks in a flame from a lighter he keeps in his coat pocket. Even as Mink exhales the white smoke between the bars, no one stirs.

“Why are these men locked up?”

Mink looks at Clear and then back at the men. “Fighting.”

“Each other?”

“Yeah.”

“You said you locked them up until they cool down,” Clear says. “Are they cool enough yet?”

Mink grunts with wry amusement. “They're ice cold. That's the problem.” He reaches into his lapel pocket, withdrawing a ring of keys. Holding the stem of the pipe between his teeth, he unlocks the cell, dragging the cell door open across the concrete. Clear claps his hands over his ears at the shriek of the metal against the ground. The men do not move.

“These men began fighting after hearing a song on the radio,” Mink says, crouching next to one of them and blowing smoke into his face. The man's eyes slide closed and then open again, but he never turns to look at Mink. “After they were thrown in here, they calmed down and then settled into this state.”

“These men... heard the song?”

“Yeah.” Mink turns the bowl of his pipe to the side, dropping a glowing ember on the man's hand. It lands with a soft pat and slowly winks out, leaving a small red and black burn. The man does not move. Mink stands, rapping the stem of the pipe on the bars, leaving the ash on the floor.

“Sing for them.”

“Eh?”

“Your song.” Mink walks toward Clear, tucking the pipe away in his coat. “It has a power, doesn't it?”

“That... that's...” Clear crisps his hands together, a little distressed.

Mink closes the distance and Clear finds himself looking up into Mink's face, at the dust caked on his headband and the large lock and collar around his neck.

“Your song can undo Toue's work.”

“It... I haven't ever used it for that...”

“Do it.”

“I c-can't...”

“Do it.” Mink raises his voice, issuing a command.

“I can't!”

“Gas mask,” Mink begins threateningly, but Clear cuts him off.

“That song is special. I can't sing it for just anyone...”

“Who can you sing it for?”

“My grandfather said I should only sing it for someone dear to me. Like Master,” Clear replies, with a simpleton's conviction.

“Gas mask,” Mink says again, a hint of desperation in his voice. “If you can do this, we can make a stand against Toue.”

“Make a stand...”Clear still sounds uncertain, pressing his fists against his sides.

“Do this for me,” Mink says, looking down at Clear, “And if he lives, I will bring back your Master.”

“He is alive,” Clear says simply.

“Then use your power and buy his freedom.”

Clear is silent for a few minutes. The mask swivels, looking at each of the blank-faced men in turn and then he speaks quietly. “Should... is it safe for us to be in here when they wake up?”

To answer, Mink turns and walks out of the cell. Clear follows him, his steps more subdued than before. As Mink shuts the door and replaces the padlock, Clear begins to sing.

The song is one he's only sung for other people a few times before. He calls it the Jellyfish Song, or did when his grandfather was alive; it rolls out of Clear like waves, clear and blue-green. Mink feels the tug of the song at the base of his skull, a yearning for the sea and salt and the rhythm of the ocean, a return to calm. It is so much stronger now than it had been through the wall of the racquetball court. It soothes Mink and eases his mind. He finds his eyes drifting to Clear, to the outstretched hands, to the mask, wondering what he looks like under it, if the face matches the beautiful voice, if the beautiful voice matches the soul. Clear is, in the throes of his melody, as deep as the ocean and as unknown.

Mink drifts back to reality as Clear concludes his performance.

“Boss?”

Mink looks into the cell. The men have slowly begun to move around, stretching and groaning at the stiffness in their joints.

“Yeah?”

“What are we doing in here? We ain't done nothin' wrong.”

Mink's eyes flick to Clear, to the somehow expectant gaze of the gas mask and then he nods slowly. “I'll be back soon to let you out.”

“Okay, boss.” They take him at his word.

Mink turns and begins to walk out of the Clink, and Clear trails after him, hands stuffed in his coat pockets.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MInk brings Tae and Clear into his confidence and they begin to plan their actions against Toue. Beni-Shigure accepts Mink's offer, and Clear comes to visit Mink late that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: tigerine.tumblr.com  
> tracked tag: #tigerine
> 
> I hope this meets with your approval. Thank you for continuing to read this <3

“Mink-san!”

Mink doesn't pause as he climbs the stairs.

“Mink-san, please wait!”

Mink hesitates with his foot on the step below the landing, grit sliding under his boot as he turns to look at Clear. “What?”

“Wait for me,” Clear says, springing up the last few stairs until he's on the landing. “I want to be able to help you, but,”

“But?” Mink ascends the final stair, opening the door with a creak and walking through. He shortens his stride some to allow Clear to keep pace with him as he walks through the dark hallways. Clear walks at Mink's right hand, reaching up to straighten his scarf self-consciously.

His voice behind the mask is unsure. “But can I really help by singing?”

“Even if you have no other talents, your song is valuable.” Mink's eyes slide to Clear, the hint of a sneer around his lips. “Or did your grandfather tell you it wasn't?”

“My grandfather liked it when I sang, but he taught me to do other things as well.”

Mink feels something tug at his mind, a sense of caution that has served him well for many years. The revelation of Toue's connection to Clear through Clear's grandfather and the appearance of the songs that have begun brainwashing the populace of Midorijima are too close together for his comfort. Mink long ago stopped believing in coincidences.

“Mink!” The bellow comes as Mink and Clear re-enter the main lobby of the dilapidated health club, where members of Scratch are congregating and dubiously eying the members of Beni-Shigure in the other racquetball court.

“What?”

“You're gonna need to see about that old lady. We got her down in the old gym but she's demanding to speak to you.”

Mink draws his mouth into a grim line. Tae Seragaki was going to be a handful. He would not be surprised if she fought him the entire time. The sooner he got to talk to her and explain the situation, the better. Mink looks at Clear. _Might be good to include him as well._ Make the time he was required to spend talking about this as short as possible. All of this diplomacy bullshit is new to him. He has been alone for so many years, making decisions on his own, about his own welfare, that he finds all this leadership and caretaking quite tiresome. He is not used to asking anyone else for their input or their assistance. At least Scratch was full of grown men that could wipe their asses without asking him his opinion first. With a heavy sigh, Mink says, “Tell her that I'll be down in a moment.”

Mink strips off his coat and hands it to a Scratch member, who takes it and folds it over his arm. With this out of the way, it is easier to see the manacles and prison collar he still wears: a reminder of who and what Scratch is. He enters the court that Beni-Shigure's members are grouped in, his boots heavy on the wooden floor. He looks at the men in front of him.

“Where is my girlfriend?!” One of the men demands.

“You'll be allowed to see her once you've met my terms,” Mink replies, tucking his hands into his pockets. He rakes the group of men with his shrewd gaze. “Beni-Shigure's head is missing.”

The men mill about, looking at each other, their worried murmurs rumbling through them like waves. “Yeah, so what?” someone yells from the back.

Mink ignores the yelled comment. “I am offering you a place in Scratch. You will be fed and housed, and in exchange for that, you will work, kill, and die for me, on my orders.”

“We'll never abandon Koujaku!” another voice hollers, and this time there is an angry chorus of agreement.

“If Koujaku returns--” Mink begins, but is quickly drowned out by the raised voices of Beni-Shigure.

“Whadya mean 'if'?”

“Did you do something to him, fucker?”

“Let's get him!”

“Wait!” A black-haired man holds up his hand and the rest of the members quiet themselves. He nods at Mink to continue.

“If Koujaku returns,  Beni-Shigure will be under his control again,” Mink finishes. “You're free to go back to him.”

“Why?” The black-haired man folds his arms over his chest. “Why would you willingly give up part of your team?”

Mink holds up his hands, the chain links on his manacles clinking. “Midorijima is about to change. You've probably already noticed it: glassy stares from your neighbors, people who stop caring about work or things they once loved doing. People who hated each other suddenly get along; people who get along suddenly getting into fights. These are all problems with mind control as a--”

“Mind control?”

“What is he talking about?”

“Who is controlling--”

“Shut up!” Mink's voice rolls around the court like thunder. Beni-Shigure falls silent. When Mink speaks again, his voice has a dangerous potential to it, like a hand raised to strike. “That is your only warning. When you become part of Scratch, you will not get one.”

Some of the members of Beni-Shigure maintain their recalcitrant expressions, but others appear much more serious.

“You seem to know a lot about what is going on,” the black-haired man says. “Do you know what's happened to Koujaku?”

Mink's expression darkens. “Information is hard to get out of Platinum Jail,” he says slowly, “But my men seem to think Red and his companion have been captured.”

“Captured?”

“By Toue.” Mink folds his arms across his chest, using one gloved hand to gesture. “We haven't found a body yet, but we're still looking. It seems that he might have some value to Toue.”

“So what do you want us to do?”

Mink looks at the black-haired man. “Accept me as your Head.”

“Criminal scum like you?”

Mink's eyes flick to the man who spoke, his eyes glittering. “Criminal scum like me are the only thing standing between Toue and total control of every human mind on this island.” He turns his intense glare on the rest of the Rib team. “Don't delude yourselves. Your parents, your lovers, your friends, they will all fall to Toue. The only choice is whether you fight him or not.”

“And you're gonna fight?”

Mink turns back to the black-haired man and nods slowly. The members stir and look at each other, murmuring.

“Think it over. I'll be back.”

The black-haired man nods and as Mink leaves, they raise their voices, arguing loudly over the future of Beni-Shigure.

Tae is waiting for him as he steps out, her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. Mink looks briefly at the man behind her, who spreads his hands and shrugs his shoulders in an apologetic gesture. Mink glares at him and then looks at Tae. “What do you need?”

“You've got some nerve, having this guy abduct me and then placing me in charge of your little project. If you think you're going to order me around, you've got another think coming.”

Mink looks at Clear, who is standing off to the side, somehow managing to look distressed even though the gas mask hides his face.

“Granny, follow me.”

“I'm not your Granny!”

Mink doesn't reply, stalking off towards his room. Clear and Tae follow him, Tae continuing to berate Mink and Clear continuing to fidget. They follow him into his room, a dark, windowless hole of a room with one bare light bulb and a single bed, his coat draped across the footboard. Mink closes the door behind them and offers Tae the only chair before sitting across from her on the bed.

“Granny--”

“You thick brute, I'm not your--”

“Have you talked to your grandson recently?”

Tae stops mid-tirade. “No, not since the police raid.” She crosses her arms across her belly, folding her hands in her lap.

“Toue has started moving.”

Tae's face freezes, her eyes like chips of ice. “You think that his disappearance and Toue moving are related?”

Mink reaches into his coat and takes out a small pouch and his pipe, filling the bowl and pressing it down with his thumb. “He's had a week. The songs started three days ago.”

“The songs.” Tae's expression hardens. “The Grand Music.”

Mink looks at Clear. “That's what you called it.”

“Yes,” Clear says, lacing his fingers together in front of him.

Tae's eyes flick to Clear. “He will be necessary to combat the Grand Music.”

“Me?” Clear asks.

“Yes, you. You're the defective model,” Tae grumbles.

“How do you--” Mink frowns and lights his pipe and then gestures at Tae with it. “Your work was with brain plasticity, wasn't it?”

“You think I never talked to the researchers in auditory processing? Or that I didn't go drinking with the engineers?” Tae snorts derisively.

“Defective...” Clear's voice is small, even in the close space of Mink's room.

“It's a compliment,” Tae says offhandedly.

“How is being defective a compliment?” Clear's voice becomes more nasal, more distressed and Mink can't suppress a small laugh through his nose. Clear looks back and forth between Tae and Mink before he begins to make a keening noise. “Tae-san, Mink-san, you're both being so terrible!”

“Gas mask, being un-useful to Toue is probably the highest praise she can give you.”

Tae nods, one corner of her mouth lifting in a faint smile. “His best work was always the things that went wrong.”

Mink grunts, his mirth evaporating and the stony expression settling back on his face.  “What can you tell me about the Grand Music?”

Tae sighs. “It was after I left Toue, but I kept in touch with some of the sound engineers. They were working on modifying their work with auditory processing for applications with the voice. Some of the engineers were working on synthetic delivery systems for organic hosts. The rest of them were working on synthetic hosts themselves.”

Mink exhales a cloud of fragrant smoke, ignoring Tae's scowl. “Organic hosts...he wouldn't let just anyone have that kind of power, once he knew it worked.”

“Of course not,” Tae snaps. “Toue himself was the test subject.”

Mink carefully takes the pipe out of his mouth and rubs his face with one hand. If Toue has the ability to control people with his mind, then killing him just got a lot harder.

“And gas mask,” Mink says, pointing at Clear with the stem of his pipe, “He's one of the synthetic hosts?”

Tae looks expectantly at Clear, who is holding his hands tightly clasped around each other. Clear shifts from one foot to the other and then nods slowly. “Y-yes.”

“That's why your song can undo the effects of the Grand Music,” Mink says, drawing on the pipe. “Are you an Allmate?”

“No,” Clear replies. “My systems are based on the same research, but my consciousness is part of the hardware.”

“So the body can't simply be replaced if it's damaged,” Mink muses.

Clear nods. “There is a nanorepair system that is always running, but it doesn't work immediately. And..”

“And?” Tae prompts him.

“And if I act against Toue directly, there is a failsafe system in place that will cause a system failure.”

“You shut down?”

“It is my understanding that the system failure is permanent.” Clear's voice is solemn.

“What are you thinking?” Tae is direct; she suspects that Mink knows more than he is letting on.

When Mink speaks, smoke billows out of his mouth and nose. “We must assume Aoba failed.”

“Failed...” She looks down at her hands, folded together. “Has he been killed?”

“Toue doesn't like to destroy valuable things.”

“Toue doesn't give a damn about how valuable it is if it's in his way,” Tae retorts, and she is rewarded by a black look from Mink.

“I am well aware of that,” he says, his voice deadly quiet.

“So what's your plan?”

Mink gestures with his pipe again, the smoke curling around his hand. “If we do nothing, he gets control of this island, perfects his techniques, expands his influence.”

Tae nodded. “I agree. Midorijima is his proving ground. If he is not stopped here, no one will ever be able to stop him.”

“No one else has to be involved.” Mink looks at Clear. “Except for him.”

“M-me?”

“Without you, all our men would be under his thumb in a week.” Mink tucks the end of the pipe into the corner of his mouth, speaking around it. “With you undoing the effects of the Grand Music, as long as we can stay alive, we can fight. It'll give me time, and that's what I need.”

“Mink-san...”

“Time for what?”

Mink turns back to Tae. “To put together a more permanent solution.” He stands up, smiling and it is a cold, chilling thing; there is no doubt what he means by 'permanent solution.' “In the meantime, I'm going to-- What's wrong?”

He catches the way Clear's head lifts, the way his head tilts like a dog, listening for something. “Master,” Clear breathes in wonder, “Master!”

Mink is barely able to catch him; if the door had been open, he would have been too late. As it is, Clear yells angrily as Mink catches his hands and wrenches them behind him. “Let me go!”

“Gas mask, if you leave, we're fucked!” Mink is shocked at how strong Clear is and realizes quickly that if he can't immobilize Clear, this is not a fight he can win.

“He's calling--!”

“Gas--”

“He's calling for me! Let me go!”

Mink takes a risk and plants his boot on the back of his door and throws his weight in the opposite direction. The two of them sprawl on the floor; Tae stands up from the chair and backs away against the bed. After a short scuffle, Clear ends up face down underneath Mink and Mink puts his entire body weight on Clear's back, pressing his knee into the shorter man's back and holding his wrists down and planting his feet on Clear's legs for purchase.

“You _must_ let me go, Mink-san! He's begging me!”

“Begging you for what?!” Mink growls. “What is he saying?”

“He's--!”

“He's been in Toue's hands for days already,” Mink snarls into Clear's ear as Clear continues to struggle underneath him. “Why? Why would he be quiet until now? THINK!” Mink picks up Clear's wrists, his body lifting up with his arms and slams him against the concrete.

Clear groans, as if in pain. “Master isn't--”

“He's not the man you know anymore. He's already been broken or--” Mink dodges as Clear tries to elbow him in the face-- “or worse!”

“Master wouldn't--”

“It's not up to him,” Mink says angrily. “He'll break when Toue wants him to break. And if you think he wouldn't spill all the details about a white-haired robot once Toue had him under, you're wrong and it's going to get us all killed!” Mink slams him against the concrete again. “And some of us can't afford to die yet!”

“He's right,” Tae says slowly from her position near the bed, watching the two scuffle. “If Toue has Aoba, then it's too late already.”

As Tae speaks, Clear sags against the floor. His arms go slack, and after a moment, Mink releases his arms, backing up against the door. Clear remains face down, his mask forcing his head up at an odd angle. Mink and Tae exchange glances before Tae inches forward. “Clear?”

He sits up suddenly, and Mink reflexively drops into a combat stance. But Clear stops at a sitting position, his gloved hands in trembling fists on his lap. “Tae-san. Mink-san. Tell me what I have to do to help Master.”

“What is he saying?” Tae's voice is shaky.

Clear's baleful mask turns to Tae. “Aoba-san is not saying anything now.” Mink hears that, the distinction between 'Master' and 'Aoba-san'; Clear's voice sounds weak, weaker than Mink has ever heard it, as if he's under great strain.

Tae looks to Mink, who finally lowers his fists and begins tugging his clothes back into place.

“We have to get information on him first,” he says between swipes of his hands over his clothing. “I'll do what I can. Until then, stay here.”

Clear continues to sit silently in _seiza_ , and gives no indication that he has heard Mink at all.

“Gas mask?”

There is still no response. Mink steps forward, crouching next to Clear. Clear doesn't move; on his lap, his fists are still shaking.

“Clear?” Mink says cautiously, reaching for his mask. Clear slaps his hand away reflexively.

“Oi,” Mink starts, but Clear's head turns toward him. 

“I apologize, Mink-san. I-I'm fine.” Clear rises from his sitting position, straightening his clothes and thrusting his balled-up hands into his pockets.

“Are you going to stay with us if I move away from this door?”

Mink can barely hear his answer, small even in this cramped hole of a room. “...yes.”

He watches Clear's slightly bowed head for a moment more before turning and opening the door. Looking over his shoulder proves that Clear has not moved, his shoulders rising and falling as he breathes. Neither has he looked at Tae, who is still half-perched on Mink's bed. Nothing to indicate that Clear is a flight risk. Nothing to indicate that he might make a break for it and doom them all. It's not like Mink to trust someone, but in this case, he has no choice.

As Mink leaves the room, he notices Sajima leaning against the wall nearby.

“Is there going to be trouble?” Sajima's face is a mask of impassivity; his half-smoked cigarette waggles out of his lips as he talks.

Mink continues walking; he still has to get the answer from Beni-Shigure. “No. We're moving ahead as planned.”

“Hnnh,” Sajima grunts, taking a drag off his cigarette. “I'll go keep working then.”

“Let those six out of the Clink while you're down there,” Mink says over his shoulder.

“Haa,” Sajima replies.

Beni-Shigure is waiting for Mink when he walks back in and tucks his hands in the pockets of his pants. “Well?”

The black-haired man steps forward. “We'll join you.”

Mink looks at their faces again, the hard, angry mouths, the furrowed brows, the way they don't look at him. “All of you?”

The black-haired man nods. “To a man.”

Night can't come soon enough for Mink. His Rib team has grown three-fold into an empire in one day, and it seems like everyone has questions for him as soon as he enters a room. The refugees are settling into their freshly-mopped gym on rickety bunk beds. A handful of children run around the beds, oblivious to the serious expressions of their older siblings, and the bloodshot eyes of their mothers. Tae steps up admirably, as Mink expected she would. Even the Scratch members seem pleased at her arrival. A smartass old granny could do a lot to keep his bunch of felons in line; Tae in particular had the kind of attitude that was difficult to ignore.

The night team goes out for patrol and Mink heads to his room to catch a few hours of sleep before they return. He strips off his shirt, stretching his arms out and sighing at the pull of his muscles against his bones. He's about to lie down on the bed when a knock comes at the door.

“Come,” Mink says with a sigh.

The door creaks open and a gloved hand and gas mask peer around the edge. “Mink-san?”

Mink hides his mild surprise at Clear coming to see him so late. “Come in.”

Clear steps into the room and closes the door behind him with a thud. He walks past Mink and sits in the lone wooden chair, facing the bed. Unsure of what to expect, Mink slowly takes a seat on the bed across from Clear.

“T-thank you for restraining me this morning, Mink-san.” Clear says quietly. “I did not want to say it in front of Tae-san, but...” he looks down at his hands, folded in his lap. “I could hear exactly what Master was saying.”

“What did he say?” Mink's voice is quiet.

“Nothing. He was just screaming.”

Even Mink feels his blood chilled by the thought of hearing nothing but screams from so far away. It reminds him of that night, of the screams that echoed off trees, in the distance, inside rooms and buildings, right next to him. He can see mouths, the dull white of teeth, shining with spittle, the pink of their throats as they cry out their agonies. The shrieks fill his ears like blood, scabbing until he cannot peel them away; the screams are with him always. They keep him going, keep the fires of his rage banked, until he can act. Now, he is so close, so close to Toue, so close to being done and finished with revenge, with everything.

“Mink-san?”

The reverie lifts from Mink and he shakes his head, clearing the memories of that night from in front of his eyes. A white-gloved hand is stretched out toward him and he pulls back, recoiling from human contact.

“Mink-san, you are trembling.”

The soft words feel like wounds opened up in him, sounds of concern and sympathy that have not been extended to him in years. Mink lifts his eyes to the inscrutable gas mask. There is a war within him between the absurdity of the mask and the sincerity of the words. There is no part of him left that yearns to trust anyone, that aches for the salve of sympathy and concern. And yet, he watches as the gloved hand draws nearer to his face. He flinches as Clear's hand touches his cheek, but Clear presses his fingertips against Mink's face. Clear's gloves are soft, his fingers gentle. Mink lets his eyes close for a moment, allowing himself just a moment to enjoy of the sensation of a touch that isn't murderous, a hand that isn't violent.

“Let me sing for you, Mink-san.”

Mink licks his lips, barely aware that his mouth had been open. “I have not been affected by the Grand Music,” he answers, his voice hoarse. “I don't need it.”

But Clear begins to sing, a strange, lilting lullaby that sweeps through Mink like a night breeze. He is sure that for a moment, he can smell leaf mold and pine trees, sun-warm stone and mountain air. A tightness in his chest eases, like a fist wrapped around his heart that relaxes its grip. He sags from the sudden rush of relief that floods through him. Clear finishes his song and his hands fall to rest in his lap.

“You... what did you do to me?”

“Eased your burden,” Clear replies soothingly.

“It's...not something I want eased,” Mink says, but he's unable to give his words any real teeth; he's still shaken.

“You are very strong, Mink-san,” Clear says with quiet admiration. “But you are very brittle, like glass. One blow will shatter you.”

Mink stares at Clear. “And I’m supposed to take that from someone who wears a gas mask when he doesn’t need one?”

Clear’s shoulders slump in disappointment, but his voice has the sound of someone who is used to patient explanations. “But I do need the mask. My grandfather told me to wear it all the time.”

“Why? Why would a robot need a gas mask?”

“To hide my face.”

Mink blinks. “Your face?”

“Yes. Grandfather told me not to let anyone see my face.” Clear lifts his hand and smooths his fingertips over the surface of the mask, his middle finger tracing a ring around one of the filters.

“Is there something wrong with your face that you’d need to wear a mask to hide it?”

Clear hesitates, his hand dropping to his lap and head bowing. “I think… I must be very ugly.”

“Don’t you know?”

Clear lifts his head and Mink senses that he’s waiting, that he doesn’t know how to react, that he doesn’t know the answer. Clear shakes his head as if to clear it. “No, but I trust my grandfather.”

Mink leans on one hand, looking down at Clear.  He can’t stop a faint smile from dancing across his lips at the irony of a robot with crippling self-doubt. “But it wasn’t your grandfather that said you were ugly, was it?” At Clear’s slow shaking of his head, Mink continues, “Don’t force others to accept the judgments you make of yourself.”

Clear is still for several moments, so much that Mink isn’t expecting the sudden crush of Clear’s weight against his bare chest, the cool plastic of Clear’s mask digging into his skin. Mink’s hands hover over Clear’s shoulders like circling birds, unable to find a good place to land. At last, he settles them gingerly on Clear’s shoulder blades. Mink’s heart goes cold in his chest and the skin on the back of his neck flashes hot and prickly as he embraces Clear back. The hug feels unfamiliar to Mink but this white-haired robot with his arms locked around Mink’s waist seems to need this acceptance, this affirmation of humanity. It won’t kill him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Months pass as Scratch and Beni-Shigure dig in their heels to oppose Toue. A gift comes from an unlikely source, which leads Clear to believe that his best option may be to leave Mink and Scratch behind and look for his Master on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: tigerine.tumblr.com  
> tracked tag: #tigerine
> 
> It looks like I might just blow all the way through this fic before even going back to my other fics. (I'm sure you guys would be okay with that, right?) Someone mentioned wanting to know where in the sequence of chapters "In the Middle of the Celebrations" fits, and I can comfortably say you can treat "Celebrations" as a kind of Chapter 4.5.

The days become a week. Clear quickly finds himself the hero of the enclave, willing and able to play with the children. He can keep up with them for hours, until they are exhausted and sleep through the night. The mothers set up a crèche so that Clear can take time away from them if he needs to, but Clear still ends up drawn to their makeshift school hours. He plays the children off of each other, reflecting and magnifying the happiness he creates in them despite the dark, unhappy corridors of the Northern district.

The week becomes two weeks. Mink and his men make their first raid against Platinum Jail. Their target is primarily a shipment of staples and other dry goods; this is where Beni-Shigure members, filled with derring-do, find their skills useful. Their goodwill in the community earns them a few favors from police officers, who look the other way as sacks of rice and soybeans are lost at the docks. Scratch breaks into a secured warehouse and makes off with plastic explosives and blasting caps. Mink considers this week’s mission a success, but urges his men to brace for a retaliatory attack from Toue. Mink’s room becomes the site of impromptu songs by Clear, who sings of red land and forests to Mink without asking for anything in return.

Two weeks becomes a month. The retaliatory attack is not against Scratch directly, but against the people of Aoyagi Street. Many of the light displays for advertisements and shops are replaced and the scheduled broadcasts of Grand Music are decreased to only once a day at noon. Beni-Shigure’s members are increasingly called upon to flex their charismatic muscle to local police, as many of Scratch’s contacts have been purged. Clear’s role as ersatz babysitter all but disappears as he steps forward to take a larger role in planning routes to enter and leave the Northern district. 

One month becomes two. The shift in Toue’s subversion methods creates problems for Scratch and Beni-Shigure; the kind of mental fog that results from the lights doesn’t lift as easily as the one from the music. Clear sings for Scratch and Beni-Shigure almost daily to keep their minds free of Toue’s influence. He sings the same song each time, the one that creates a pull in Mink like the waves and a peace like a glassy sea. One Beni-Shigure member gets a Scratch tattoo. Scratch begins to operate through using small explosive devices to destroy nerve centers of Midorijima, bringing down a Coil transmission tower and completely destroying one network relay center. Mink re-establishes contact with Noiz after a thorough search, but after extracting a promise from him to help find Aoba, Noiz disappears again, and this time the deep networks that Scratch members found him in don’t offer any clues as to his whereabouts.

Two months becomes three.  With their disruption methods becoming less effective (and Toue now putting up enough lights that their small efforts to destroy transmission routes aren’t significantly changing the game), Mink changes tactics. He now plans to raid Platinum Jail and Oval Tower itself. In preparation, Mink leads a daring assault on an abandoned warehouse in the Northern district and seizes enough raw materials to make a bomb with a significant payload. With this, Mink hopes, they will strike a blow against Toue that will be debilitating.

It is the first week of the third month when the call comes on Mink’s Coil.

“Hey.”

“Maniac,” Mink says in acknowledgment.

“I’m not a maniac,” Noiz replies testily, but he seems at more at ease than Mink remembers him being.

“You must have some reason for calling me,” Mink muses out loud, “Especially since this Coil address is unpublished and I didn’t give it to you.”

Noiz smirks. “Just a bit of information I acquired that might be of interest to you.”

Mink’s eyes dart around the room, resting briefly on Clear and then return to Noiz on the Coil screen. Paranoia has slowly become his modus operandi as the weeks have crawled by.  It has served him well up until now, allowing him and Scratch to make several bold actions against Toue.  With their recent success at a warehouse, Mink is more cautious than ever, seeing betrayal around every corner.

“Don’t worry, this channel is secure,” Noiz says airily, his fingers moving just out of view of his Coil.

Mink scowls. “I won’t discuss anything over Coil.”

“We’re not going to discuss anything,” Noiz replies, and the clatter of keystrokes comes to an abrupt stop. A notification window appears on Mink’s Coil.

“Mink-san, Tae-san wanted us to be there ten minutes ago,” Clear says, walking up behind Mink and sliding his hand over Mink’s shoulder. “Oh! Noiz-san!” Clear leans in to look at Mink’s Coil, ignoring the obvious irritation on Mink’s face at having his view blocked and his conversation interrupted.  “How are you?”

Noiz pins Mink with a slightly incredulous look at the familiar placement of Clear’s hand. “Taking in strays?”

“Do you have anything useful?” Mink asks, ignoring Noiz’s question and moving his Coil so that he can see the screen again. Clear looks back and forth from Mink to Noiz and then sighs noisily behind his gas mask.

“Regarding that matter you asked me to look into,” Noiz says, his pale green eyes seeming to glow over the Coil. “I’ve found him.”

Mink’s heartbeat quickens. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Noiz looks away from the screen for a moment, but not as if he’s focusing on other tasks. It is more like he is avoiding Mink’s skeptical appraisal. Mink narrows his eyes.

“Where did you say you got this information?”

“A reliable source.” Noiz still refuses to meet his gaze.

Mink frowns. “That’s not good enough.”

Noiz lifts his eyes back to Mink and something has changed in them. “Take your time checking it out if you want. I’ll wait.”

Mink shakes his head. “I won’t waste my time. I’m spread too thin as it is.” Mink becomes peripherally aware of Clear stiffening next to him, his hands clenching.

Noiz’s lip curls in a sneer. “I don’t understand you. I’m giving you exactly what you want.”

“Or giving Toue exactly what he wants.”

“And that is?”

“My head.”

Noiz laughs bitterly. “You really have no idea, do you? He’s already got everything he wants. You’re nothing but a fly to him.”

“Noiz-san!”

Mink turns his head to look at Clear. “Oi—“

“Did you find Master??” Clear drapes himself over Mink’s arm to peer closer at the screen.

“You idiot, not over an open Coil—“  
“I already told you, this channel is secure.”

Mink looks back at Noiz, suspicious.

Noiz sighs and makes a few movements on his Coil. Another notification window pops up on Mink’s Coil.

“What’s this?”

“A list of people listening to our conversation.”

“What are you trying to pull?” Mink growls. “There are three entries.”  

“One of them is my source. The other two are me and you.”

“See?” Clear says, leaning over Mink’s shoulder and looking at Noiz. “Thank you, Noiz-san! Thank you, Source-san!”

Noiz purses his lips and then a small smile curves his mouth as he looks away. “Yeah.”

Mink narrows his eyes at Noiz.  Clear’s fingers tighten on Mink’s shoulder and Mink reaches his hand up absently, covering Clear’s hand with his own.  “So what’s your price for this, maniac?”

“No charge.”

“Bullshit.”

“Just owe me one.”

“I don’t like owing anyone favors.”

“Mink-saaan,” Clear whines.

“Fine,” Mink snarls, shooting Clear a deadly glare. “Send it over and I’ll see if I can do anything with it.”

The download starts immediately; Noiz had known he was going to agree. Mink curses under his breath and opens the file.

“Oi, maniac.”

“What?”

“There are two files here. What’s this other one for?”

“That one is on the house,” Noiz says, his voice distant. “If you can make use of it, then please do.”  And the screens vanish into thin air.

That night, Mink senses the figure in the doorway more than hears him.  He turns his head slightly, one dreadlock sliding off his bare shoulder to rest on his back. “Come in.”

Clear walks in briskly, his hands shoved in his pockets, lab coat fluttering. He sits in the hard wooden chair next to the bed, opposite Mink. His gas mask leaves him as inscrutable as ever, but his bearing and posture are all things that Mink's keen eyes noted, even in the early days of their unlikely partnership. It's obvious to him that something is wrong with his robotic companion.

Ever since the call with Noiz, Clear has been acting strangely; tonight, his tension is evident in the way his elbows are locked, his footsteps loud, and the unusual moment of impatience with Mink as he reclines on his bed and looks at Clear. Clear doesn’t wait for Mink to get settled before he begins to sing. Their evening routine seems strained, full of unspoken words, missing the easy silence and small chatter between a man out of time and a robot out of place.

Even though the air between them is strained, Clear’s song soothes Mink the way it always does. It leaves him drifting in the clear, perfect nothing between the world of the past and the reality of now, pulling him from the chaos, sharpening his vision and honing his purpose. Emotions are messy things, and leaving them behind until he can deal with them properly-- well, it's worked for every stop on this tour of vengeance so far.

The song is over before Mink knows it, and it leaves the same sense of half-fulfillment that it always does: the sense that one is healed but not whole, and wholeness would not be far off if only...

“Mink-san?”

“Hn?”

“Will you please answer my question?”

Mink raises a hand to his head, smoothing it over his hair and tucking it under his pillow. “I didn't hear it.”

“What are you going to do about the information Noiz-san provided?”

Mink's brow knots in frustration. He still hasn't decided how to act on the tip the maniac provided. It's not that Mink doesn't trust Noiz; he does, at least, as far as he trusts anyone's demonstrated skill at their calling. It's more that things are more complicated now.

 Together, Beni-Shigure and Scratch control the majority of territory in the Old Residents' District, inasmuch as any Rib teams still care about territory when a sprawling police state has mind control programs running for most of the day. Any territory left uncontrolled by the dissolution of the Dry Juice team was swiftly annexed by the yakuza, eager to muscle in on the grey and black markets and provide a more civilizing influence in Midorijima's underworld.

Mink sighs heavily. “We haven't decided yet.”

“You mean _you_ haven't decided yet.”

Mink looks at the gas mask, irritation showing on his face. “No, I have not. My men have not confirmed his information--”

“You have no reason to doubt him.”

“I have no reason to trust him either. He's not part of this group, he's got no allegiance to us--”

“To you, Mink-san.”

Mink stops, his mouth half-open, realizing that he has let slip what he knew already: that Scratch and Beni-Shigure were utterly dependent on the white-haired man in front of him and included him in all their most important decisions out of necessity rather than desire.

“To me,” Mink replies, his lip curling. “In any case, I won't endanger my men on a baseless tip.”

Clear looks at him, tilting his head like a curious dog, and then he stands up suddenly, the chair behind him wobbling. Although he is used to Clear's speed, Mink flinches.

“I will go to him.”

Mink sits up, reaching for Clear, but Clear sidesteps his grasp easily, almost without realizing it happens. “I will go to him and bring him back,” Clear repeats.

“You...” Mink's teeth grind together in frustration. “And how do you think you will get into Oval Tower? How do you think you're going to get into Platinum Jail?”

“I will go under the wall, of course.”

Clear says it so matter-of-factly that Mink almost believes him for a second. It wouldn't be the first time this gas mask has said some crazy shit that turned out to be true. But Platinum Jail is nearly impregnable for a mortal man, and putting together an explosives cache that can take out the wall is taking much longer than anticipated, even with their recently successful raid.  Noiz’s gift of engineering schematics for the wall would help speed things some, but they still need time. More importantly, Toue’s efforts to control the populace have only flourished, despite their resistance. Something big has to happen soon or their guerilla actions will have been for nothing.

Which brought Mink to the subject of Aoba. If Noiz’s tip is correct, Toue has scheduled a trip to Hong Kong in two weeks to begin plans for building a compound similar to Platinum Jail. Major personnel will be missing and security will be lax. There is a chance that they might be able to reclaim Aoba (and Red too, if he is still alive.) But they have to assume that Aoba is under Toue’s control; he’d been missing and presumed dead until this tip came to light. Clear is the only source of the song that can counteract the Grand Music and the strange light patterns. Clear is the key to resisting Toue. If he is captured or killed...

Mink stands, grabbing for Clear's collar. “Don't fuck around,” he warns in a low voice, his fingers clenching in the shorter man's shirtfront.

“Mink-san, let me go, please.” Clear's voice is always so cheerful, so serene, that it surprises Mink when Clear reveals that his voice has an edge. He lets go grudgingly. The wrinkles stand up in the fabric like an accusation; Clear does not straighten them.

“You are important here.” Mink struggles for words that accurately convey the gravity of the situation; he doesn't have to explain himself to his subordinates, but Clear needs to realize how dangerous it is for all of them if he leaves.

“I know, Mink-san, but Master is more important to me.” Clear presses his right palm to his chest, his gloved fingers neatly arranged over his heart. “If I can get Master back, we can work together with him!”

Mink sighs again, running his hand through his locks and trying not to lose his temper. “This is not open for discussion. We can't afford to lose you.”

Clear looks at the floor, the lenses of his gas mask glinting in the light of the only bulb in the room. “Mink-san, I understand what you are saying, but you cannot keep me from going to him.”

“I can and I will.” Mink walks past him to stand in front of the door. “If you are captured, every man, woman, and child here will be as good as dead.” He folds his arms over his bare chest. “Is that a fair price for your 'Master'?”

Clear's mask follows Mink, tracking him, but as these last words are uttered, his gaze falls to the floor in front of Mink's bed.

“Well?”

“Mink-san...I have not heard Master's voice since the Grand Music began. I must go and see him. If he is still alive, I must assist him.”

“Even if it means the death of everyone here?”

The way Clear turns his head is almost pained. “I do not believe that will be the case.”

Mink explodes back into the room, grabbing Clear and pressing him against the wall. “You-! You don't _believe_ that will be the case?! You don’t think that being under Toue’s thumb is as bad as death?”

The lenses of Clear's mask look balefully at Mink. “Mink-san, please-!”

Mink growls at Clear, the links on his manacles clinking as he roughs Clear up against the wall, slamming his back into the concrete. “Men like you are all the same,” he spits. “A lot of talk of greater good and 'everyone will benefit'. What's your real objective in running to Oval Tower? Money?”

“Mink-san, I--”

 “Power?”

“Mink-san--”

“Going to give us up to Toue?”  
“Never--”

“Betray everyone here?”

“I would _never_ do such a thing! My grandfather didn't teach me things like that!” Clear's voice has its edge again and Mink realizes that Clear's white boots are scrabbling for purchase on the floor.

“Give me your word.”

“Eeehh??”

“Your solemn oath that you will return. That you will never betray us.”

“But that's--”

“Swear it! Swear it to me on the blood of every child in that refugee camp, because it will be on your hands if something happens to you.” Mink's eyebrow quirks suddenly and his eyes gleam even in the dim light. “Swear it to me on your Master.”

“I... swear that I will never betray you.”

“And?” Mink punctuates his threat with a shake of Clear's body.

“I'm sorry, Mink-san, but I cannot promise I will return. If my Master needs me, I will stay with him. However,” Clear says, and his voice is harder and more serious than ever, “I will never betray your trust or the trust of the people in this camp!”

Mink releases him almost instantly, and Clear lands fully on his feet. “Mink-san...”

Mink's chin falls to his chest; his face is half-hidden by his dreadlocks. “You will still go, even if you know you might not return?”

“Yes, Mink-san.”

Mink laughs bitterly through his nose. “You and I are more alike than I thought.”

Clear tilts his head quizzically; his voice is back to normal. “Really?”

Mink nods slowly. “If you come back, I'll tell you why.”

Clear leans forward and takes Mink’s hand, enclosing it in both of his gloved hands. “Thank you, Mink-san.”

Mink looks at the mask, searching it for some indication of emotion as one would search a face. As usual, it offers up nothing.  Clear squeezes his hand gently and then drops it, turning to leave.

“I’ll give you twenty-four hours.”

Clear pauses in his tracks at the defeated sound of Mink’s voice.

“Twenty-four hours to get back here. You should be able to find out what you need to know by then. If it takes longer than that, don’t come back. We won’t be able to trust you.”

Clear turns, seeming to look down at the floor, and then lifts his head to look Mink in the eyes. “I appreciate your trust, Mink-san.”

Mink nods shortly in reply, but Clear continues. “You said you would share your reasons we are the same if I come back. If I return, I will share something with you as well.”

Mink grunts, a taciturn acknowledgment of Clear’s statement, but his eyes are already distant; his mind is already working through a future for Scratch and Toue-controlled Midorijima without Clear. He barely registers that Clear has left, even though the hollow bang of the metal door echoes through the halls like a gunshot. Mink yanks on the switch for the bulb over his head, plunging the room into darkness. The bed creaks as he sits and puts his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes for a moment before unlacing his boots and stretching out. Staring into the blackness for a few moments, he reaches over his head for his pipe. Mink fills it in silence, pressing his finger into the bowl for nearly a minute before coming back to himself. He curses quietly and puts it back on the shelf.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clear makes his way into Platinum Jail and Oval Tower, but the Aoba he meets is nothing like the Master he remembers. Disturbed and defeated, he returns to Scratch's hideout-- and Mink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My tumblr: tigerine.tumblr.com  
> tracked tag: #tigerine
> 
> With special thanks to Splitbricks for giving it the final eyeball before uploading and Ruffruff Ren for advice on Shiroba. Dear God, this took forever. With this chapter, we reach the halfway point in this fic (and our Explicit rating!) This Chapter is almost twice as long as previous chapters to accommodate the sex scene (which comprises basically half the chapter.) I didn't feel it was fair to just not deliver even though I'd reached my self-imposed chapter end marker of 3k. The next chapter will be back to a normal length. Thank you again for your readership and don't be afraid to send me asks on tumblr; those and comments just make my whole day.

Clear stops at the entrance, looking at the group of guards as he digs around in his pocket for something.  
“You really heading out there, Clear?”

“Yes,” Clear says matter-of-factly.

The guards, one Beni-Shigure member and two Scratch members, exchange glances. “Mink say it was okay?”

“Oh, yes,” Clear replies, although he can’t keep his voice from sounding a little dejected.

“…okay, then,” the Beni-Shigure member says, still sounding uncertain. “We’ll have to get Mink when you come back.”

Clear pulls his umbrella out of his pocket and looks at the guard, his mask hiding his sad smile. “Of course,” he says, opening his umbrella and striding out into the blackness.

The walk to the surface takes Clear through a parking garage; this close to the hideout, Scratch has set up barriers to confuse potential infiltrators, creating a maze that limits the movements of potential attackers. Given that this is now the only way in or out of Scratch’s hideout, it’s essential that access be controlled. Clear strolls by the bits of wall and concrete highway dividers, rainbow-tagged, that Scratch members moved into place. He’s sure-footed in the darkness, although anyone else would struggle to even see their hands in front of their faces.

He isn’t sure what he hopes for. His Master’s call is insistent, even when he does not hear it. Clear yearns to be near him. What he did not expect was that he would develop the same kind of yearning for Scratch. He has made many friends, gotten to know Tae better, and he feels like it’s something like family there. And then there’s Mink.

It can’t last. He knows that. Either Toue will break their little gang up, or they’ll succeed in their endeavors and go their separate ways. He feels the unknown future hanging over his head like a guillotine; surely Mink must feel the same sort of anxious dread every day that Toue doesn’t strike back. Clear admires him for how he’s kept going. It certainly doesn’t fit the image he had of Mink when he first met him. The tall, silent Ribster is the last one Clear expected to contact him. He had been looking forward to hearing from Master, so Mink’s call had come as quite a surprise. Doing what Mink wanted done hadn’t been much of a hassle to Clear; he had no other obligations and he was sure that keeping Tae safe would make Master happy.

The sound of falling water rings loud, echoing off the concrete walls and floors; drops run along the underside of the concrete roof and drip on his umbrella.  Clear emerges from the shelter of the derelict building, looking up through his umbrella. The wall of Platinum Jail stretches up into the night sky, lit in flashes by warning lights for aircraft before curving away out of sight. A waterfall spews from a drain fifty feet up in the lower part of the wall, landing in white froth on a pile of concrete and rubble below. The rain falls softly on Clear’s umbrella as he splashes across the puddle-strewn space between buildings to the wall of Platinum Jail.

Clear looks up at the wall, tilting his head back until he almost loses his balance. Going over is probably not a good idea; even if he makes the jump from the nearby building (which he is not entirely sure he can), there might be no way for him to get down. No choice but to use _that_ way, then.

He found the entrance almost by accident once a few years ago, on one of what his grandfather called his “rambles”. His triumphant declaration upon his return home had earned him a sobering look from his grandfather and the first serious discussion about his past they ever had. Clear had not expected that he would have to use the information again, but his world had been so much smaller then.

The entrance hallway is long and dark, with a track down the center for freight carts. Clear twirls his umbrella as he walks, flinging water off of it onto the gray walls. He walks forever, it seems, his footsteps echoing despite his light gait. He simultaneously feels the press of Mink’s ultimatum pushing him forward and his fear of Aoba’s unknown fate pushing him away.

Since the screams nearly three months ago, he has only been able to feel his Master at the edge of his perception, like a moth fluttering just outside the draw of the flame. Now he draws closer to the heart of Platinum Jail and the flame bids him enter.  He stands in front of the entrance to Platinum Jail, a set of four doors at a disused railway station, and finds the door off to the right marked ‘Personnel Only’. The hinges are rusty but yield to his superior strength, opening with a squeal.

The corridors beyond are a labyrinthine snare of pipes and cabling, branching off down dark, unlabeled access tunnels and dead-ending into utility closets and mechanical rooms. At the first intersection, Clear digs in his pockets and takes out a piece of yellow chalk, drawing a smiling jellyfish to show him the way back. It causes him distress for just a moment: isn’t planning a way back like admitting defeat? No, he corrects himself; he must hope that he will not need this breadcrumb trail.

The faint sound of the streets above filters down through ventilation shafts; Clear stops under one, looking up at the slow rotation of fan blades, bathed in rhythmic light and shadow.  A drop lands on one of his mask’s lenses and he reaches up, rubbing it away with a gloved hand.  It must still be raining.

He navigates mostly by feeling for his Master, and as he gets closer, his decision-making at each junction of tunnels becomes surer, his jellyfish drawings more rushed. Finally, he lays a hand on a door marked “O.T.”, nearly humming with anticipation.

The halls beyond are white, stark after the darkness of the subterranean maze. The door closes softly and Clear stuffs his umbrella in his pocket, stepping forward on to the polished floor carefully. There are no alarms, no klaxons, and he sighs in relief. This has all been easier than he expected.

The hallways are deserted, but Clear creeps forward like a cat, one arm in front and one behind, fingers splayed, ready to spring in any direction. He slides up against a door, looking through the narrow window to see if anyone lurks in the hallways beyond, but they, too, are deserted. He goes through three doors this way, the only noise the hum of the lights and the rustle of his coat. At the fourth door, the hallway beyond is different:  Clear slips through, finding himself in a long cell block. Each cell he walks past is unoccupied, the bedding folded up, awaiting a tenant.  A stirring in the next cell, the rattle of chains and the sound of something snorting makes him stop to listen, but the sound of the door opening behind him makes him freeze in place.

“You!” A haughty voice calls out. “What are you doing down here?”

Clear whirls, but what he sees is not what he expects.  The man in front of him looks like his Master, in the face at least, but he is completely drained of color. His eyes are icy and pale, sharper than daggers. His hair, that beautiful blue, is completely bleached to snow-white. The only color on him is the intricate red knotwork on his robes, like blood pouring from wounds and a pair of red tassels in his frost-colored hair. An unreadable expression flashes across his face before being replaced with a beneficent smile.

“Master…?” Clear asks uncertainly.

“Clear,” Aoba breathes, something like yearning searing through his voice.

“Master, I’m so sorry—“

“Oh, Clear,” Aoba says, his face softening in relief. “I’m so glad you’re here.”  He steps forward,  slender legs in red tights sliding into view, white boots clicking against the floor.

“M-master!!” Clear wails, running to him.

Aoba smiles winningly at Clear as the taller man crushes him in a hug, his thin arms wrapping around him. “Clear,” he purrs. “You came for me.”

“Of course, Master!!” Clear says excitedly. “I came as soon as I knew where you were! I believed that we would meet again.”

Aoba reaches up to stroke Clear’s hair, pressing his lips against the side of the mask. “Of course, Clear. You came when I called for you.”

“But that was so long ago—“

Aoba holds a bone-white finger to his mouth to shush Clear, smiling again. “Don’t worry about that, Clear. You came when I called. You’ve done so well.”

Clear’s heart swells with joy at Aoba’s praise and he cheers as Aoba’s smile widens. “Yay!” he exclaims, clapping his hands together.

“Come with me,” Aoba says, walking past Clear. “I have someone I want you to meet.”

Clear hovers at his elbow as they continue down the hall a few paces, and he can hardly tear his eyes away from this new Aoba as he walks. This Aoba makes almost no noise; even his robes are silent. He would make no sound at all if it weren’t for his boots. Even his footsteps seem almost contrived; to Clear’s eyes, Aoba is floating.  

“Koujaku, I’ve brought a guest today,” Aoba drawls as he stops in front of the cell.

“Koujaku-san!” Clear exclaims, wrapping his hands around the bars and shoving his face between them. “Koujaku-san, I—“

Within the cell is a hulking figure, shackled at the ankle, hands manacled behind his back. His naked chest is covered in tattooed flowers, the blossoms a lush pink. Another tattoo, the color of dried blood, spreads from his right shoulder in ropes like entrails, coiling around his arms. His hair is an explosion of crimson, long and knotted.  He lifts his head, a ribbon of drool dropping from his fanged mouth. Clear smiles and opens his mouth to call out to him again, but the eyes that meet his are blotted out, red to the sclera.

“He’ll be so happy to see you, Clear,” he says. Aoba giggles softly and reaches for the door to the cell; it’s unlocked. 

“K-koujaku…san,” Clear says weakly, stepping into the cell. “Is that… really you?”

Aoba moves forward, his robes swaying as he walks. “Of course it is, Clear. Don’t you recognize him?”

“Y-yes, but,” Clear stammers, “he looks so different. And you do as well, Master.”

“Oh, Clear, I’m not different at all,” Aoba says, turning on his heel with his hand on his hip, a sultry expression on his face.

He almost seems to expect the roar that erupts from Koujaku, the way Koujaku charges him until he’s at the limits of his chains and Aoba is just out of reach. The screech of metal on metal as the chain links grind against each other fills the cell and he bays at Aoba, his fangs glistening white.

“There, there, Koujaku,” Aoba whispers, almost to himself. “There’s no need for all that. You know I belong to you alone.”

Koujaku’s howl of frustration makes the bars of the cell hum. Clear realizes it with a start, his hand tightening around the bars as he backs away from the beast. “M-master!!”

Aoba turns, stepping away from the slavering beast at his back, smiling at Clear. “Yes, Clear?”

“Y-you’re… why is Koujaku-san like that?”

“Oh,” Aoba says, pressing his hands together and looking back at the seething Koujaku. “This is the Koujaku who loves me,” he replies, his face a mask of practiced gentleness. “I simply gave him what he wanted.”

“What… he wanted?”

“My love, of course.”

“Your… love?” Clear repeats Aoba’s words dumbly, his eyes darting between Koujaku and Aoba.

“My dear Koujaku,” Aoba whispers. Koujaku’s hair bristles and he groans as Aoba looks at him again.  “Would you be so kind as to let me spend a little time with Clear?”

Clear blinks, looking at Aoba, realizing with a start that Aoba’s slender fingers are pulling away the complex bindings of his robes. They sag open on his frame, dragging against the floor. Koujaku strains against his chains, hissing and geckering at the movements.

“Of course, Koujaku,” Aoba says in a placating tone, as if responding to the animal grunts that are pouring out of Koujaku’s throat. “You can have me as much as you want,” he says in a lilting voice. He shrugs a black-encased shoulder out of his robes, letting them drop down his naked back until Clear can see the curve of his waist.

“M-master, you shouldn’t!” Clear pleads, reaching for Aoba as if to pull him back from danger. “He’s—“

“He won’t hurt me, Clear. Not more than I want him to,” Aoba murmurs, shrugging the other shoulder of his robes off and holding them on one finger. His porcelain white back is naked, riddled with somehow whiter scars, and the purple and yellow signs of recent abuse. Some marks are only newly healed, still angry and red.

“Master,” Clear says, holding his hands up in front of his mask in an attempt at propriety, his voice ending in a whine. “What is happening? Why are you undressing here?”

“Oh, Clear,” Aoba sighs happily, as if glad to finally be free of the constraints of clothing. “You don’t need to understand, do you? You only need to listen to me.”

“To you?”

“To your Master,” Aoba says, still facing away. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To serve me?”

“Yes, Master,” Clear answers in a thin voice, unable to tear his eyes off of Koujaku’s wild visage. He sees the swelling under Koujaku’s half-open kimono and doubt begins to overtake him.  His Master wouldn’t do this, couldn’t possibly—

“Clear,” Aoba murmurs, turning in place and walking toward him, folding his robes. Now that Aoba has turned around, Clear can see that his front is covered with multiple wounds and bite marks in various stages of healing. For the first time, Clear brings his eyes to Aoba’s hips. A small sob breaks from Clear at the proud arousal that juts forth from his loins and the way the tumescence strains against the half-circle tooth marks. Aoba doesn’t seem fazed at all.

“Come, Clear, “Aoba cajoles. “You love me, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, Master,” Clear wheezes. His face feels damp; he is crying inside his mask.

Aoba stops in front of him, looking up into Clear’s mask and sliding his fingertips suggestively around the central filter. “Then won’t you serve me? Won’t you do as your Master asks you?”

“I…” Clear looks at Aoba’s angelic smile, the way his lips curve and his lashes flutter down, demure despite his nudity. “Master, I…”

Aoba tosses his folded up robe onto the floor next to Clear’s boots and saunters back over to Koujaku. The chains rattle again, pulled to their limit.

“Koujaku,” Aoba says enticingly. “Show Clear how much you love me.”

Clear stays through the first bite, and the second. It is when Aoba begins to moan that he scrambles out of the cell in a blind panic, barely able to remember which turns he took, throwing himself into the blessed blackness of the warrens below Platinum Jail. The tunnels feel somehow more sinister than they did an hour or two ago, their darkness deeper, the noise from the streets more grating. He doesn’t need to look at his watch—it’s stopped anyway—to know how much time has passed. He’s been gone for five hours.

Clear’s steps are hurried through the rest of the empty tunnels, past the creaking pipes and switchboxes. He follows the jellyfish back without looking at them; he knows them all anyway. The jellyfish were only ever there for anyone that might come looking for him. He realizes that the only one who might have come looking for him is Mink. His skin feels hot and cold at the same time and Clear breaks into a run. He has plenty of time to get back to Scratch; why do his feet feel the need to fly? What urges him back so quickly? Will Mink keep his word and allow him back in? The thought makes Clear feel strange, as if someone is wringing him out like a damp rag.

When he emerges from the ground into the abandoned Northern District, the wan light of dawn is already streaking the sky. He’s taken less time to come back than it did to go, dogged by pale skin and paler hair and that delirious smile. He pushes the thought of Aoba’s body, dappled with scars, away from his mind, focusing on getting back to Scratch. On getting home.

The guards are ready when he comes into view, fresh from their beds.

“Identify yourself!”

Clear holds up his hands, gesturing. “It’s me, Clear!”

The guards exchange glances and then one yells, “Prove it!”

“How do you want me to prove it?”

“Sing something!”

The other one mumbles, “How we gonna hear him if our earplugs are in?”

“Shut up, you got a better idea?”

Clear inches forward. “Um, excuse me?”

The guards continue bickering over how Clear can prove his identity, seemingly ignorant of Clear’s distress.

“Um… excuse me? Please?”

The guards stop bitching and then one of them nods, lowering his gun. “Yeah, he said you’d say please.”

Clear blinks in confusion. “Who?”

“Mink. Left here about thirty minutes ago. He was up here all night with the graveyard shift.”

Clear lowers his hands, stepping into the ring of light shed by the lantern. The guard smiles, clapping him on the back. “Get done what you need to get done?”

“I hope it was a woman.”

“Shut up, you idiot, he’s a robot.”

“Are you saying a robot can’t do a woman?”

“I’m saying that he probably had a better reason to go out than to get his dick wet, especially with how on edge Mink is about people leaving. Isn’t that right, Clear?”

Clear looks back and forth between the guards, sighing heavily. “Thank you for asking,” he responds mournfully, before walking down the hall, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Hey, is he alright?”

“Yeah, he probably just thought that he should have taken the opportunity to get his dick wet.”

“Will you stop sayin’ shit like that? Our shift is five more hours long and it ain’t like we got girlfriends waitin’ for us…”

Their conversation fades away behind Clear as he turns corners, heading for Mink’s room with long, eager strides. He must tell Mink that he’s back, must tell him about the tunnels to Oval Tower, about Aoba—

No. Not that yet. He can’t do that yet. He pauses in front of Mink’s door, his hand poised to knock. Maybe he is already in bed asleep and doesn’t want to be bothered. He must be tired after a full day yesterday and a night spent looking out into the yawning darkness. Mink waited for him at the barricades all night, even though he knew Clear might not come back. Clear sees his own hand trembling in front of him; he flexes his fingers and curls them into a fist again before rapping sharply on the door twice, listening for Mink’s permission to enter.

“Come in,” Mink says from within. His voice sounds tired. Clear swallows against the lump in his throat and turns the knob, pushing the door inward.

Mink is sitting on the edge of his bed, naked from the waist up, hair down, his head bowed. He rolls his shoulders, trying to release a night of knotted-up tension from them, with little success. “Make it quick,” he grumbles, without looking up.

“Mink-san,” Clear says quietly. “I’m home.”

Mink’s head snaps up, his eyes widening, but the rest of his face frozen in a stony expression. “Clear.”  He heaves himself up off the bed, standing up to his full height and walking over  to stand in front of the shorter man, one hand on his hip. “You’re back.”

Clear nods quickly, picking at his fingers briefly before shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yes.”

“Did you find out what you needed to know?” Mink asks icily, lifting one eyebrow. “About your Master?”

Clear’s elbows lock and his mask tilts downward as he looks at the floor. “He… Master is…”

“He’s what?”

“Master is … he couldn’t come back with me,” Clear finishes at last, and his gaze falls ever lower, to his boots.

To see Clear reduced to this… Clear, who lightens the mood of an otherwise dark time, who takes on children and felons alike with equal cheerfulness, who clings to his convictions even when threatened. Mink watches him, his heart twisting painfully.

“I failed him,” Clear says softly, his voice breaking. “I should have protected him. I should have…”

“Oi—“ Mink says, frowning.

“He is so… he’s so different, Mink-san,” Clear manages, his downcast mask garbling his speech. “He is not like Master at all.”

“Are you sure you met the right person?”

“Oh yes,” Clear says sadly. “His voice is the same, but everything else…” He lifts his head suddenly, reaching for Mink’s sleeve. “And Koujaku-san, he—!”

Mink opens his mouth to ask about Koujaku, but realizes Clear’s shoulders are shaking. Settling his hands on Clear’s shoulders is all it takes to draw forth a sob and Mink clenches his jaw. He’s lived through betrayal, he’s seen countless lives ended or ruined, but watching Clear like this brings memories of a tear-stained night many, many years ago into sharp relief.

No one had been there for him, but it didn’t have to be that way for Clear.

Mink threads his fingers through Clear’s hair and Clear stills for a moment before stepping closer to Mink.  Trailing his fingers down the edge of the mask, Mink slides his fingers underneath and waits for Clear to stop him. Instead, Clear’s gloved hand covers his and Mink tugs the mask up and off Clear’s face.

Whatever he is expecting, it isn’t what he finds under the mask. Mink can’t look away; Clear is more than just handsome, he’s beautiful. Possibly the most beautiful face Mink has ever laid eyes on. Clear’s mouth is half open, the two small moles on the lower right corner quivering with his bottom lip. Pink eyes, wide open with thick lashes blink rapidly, damp with tears. His face is so uncertain, so vulnerable; his eyes dart back and forth from Mink’s left eye to his right, searching him for signs of acceptance.

“Clear,” Mink says hoarsely, barely able to find his voice. There is nothing he can say that can express the dizzying feeling of falling in love at first sight, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he corrects himself. He has been fond of Clear for many weeks already and depended on him for much longer. It’s the heady experience of being able to touch him, to look at him without that mask in the way that is making his heart beat so fast in his chest. It’s the culmination of weeks of long looks, nightly songs, thoughtful conversations and discussions about how to attack Toue. For the first time, it dawns on Mink that he has been planning a future, however short, with Clear.

Mink tosses the gas mask in the general direction of the chair; it clatters to the floor, a complete miss, not that Clear or Mink looks to determine if it’s undamaged.  With both of his hands, he curls his fingers in Clear’s hair, tilting his head up. Clear’s face is still so open, so unashamed, watching Mink’s expression. Mink ducks his head, his mouth hovering at the corner of Clear’s mouth for an instant before pressing his lips to Clear’s in a light kiss. Clear plucks at Mink’s lips with his own, his hands sliding around Mink’s waist, and he turns his head, opening his mouth against Mink’s with a soft gasp.

Mink slides his tongue into Clear’s mouth, kissing him needfully. Clear leans into him, one of his hands sliding up Mink’s chest. They toddle backwards toward the bed, Clear wrenching his coat off his shoulders and dropping it behind him. Mink allows himself to be steered backwards, his senses lost in the rustle of discarded clothing, the heat of Clear’s tongue, and his faint whimpers growing ever more insistent in Mink’s ears.  The back of the bed presses against his legs and Mink sits down heavily, looking up at Clear.

Clear’s eyes rake over him as he nimbly undoes the buttons on his shirt, nearly ripping it off his shoulders. Mink reaches down and tugs the laces out of Clear’s boots, unbuckling them.  Clear leans back on the wooden chair, tugging his boots off with a feverish haste. Mink takes him in, the smooth planes of his muscles, the way his body twists naturally as he moves, his skin puckering and wrinkling with each bend. If Mink didn’t know better, he never would have picked Clear for a robot.

Mink’s thoughts are cut short as Clear approaches him, straddling his lap and draping his arms around Mink’s shoulders. He sucks in a sharp breath at the sensation of skin-on-skin contact. Mink’s arms slide around him, eliciting a groan. “Mink-san.”

“Clear, you’re… “

Clear stiffens slightly in Mink’s embrace. “What is it?”

Mink pulls Clear against him, his broad hands splayed across Clear’s back and his lips softly kissing across Clear’s stomach before looking up and meeting  that pink gaze, unable to articulate the feeling of immense and quiet joy that is surging through him. “…Beautiful.”

Clear must have been holding his breath because he sighs suddenly, as if in ecstasy. He lifts his hips, inching closer to Mink as his head falls back, breaking their locked eyes.  Mink cups Clear’s ass, hauling him against his body. His stomach feels like it’s doing flips at the press of Clear’s erection through his pants. Clear’s hips rise and fall again, grinding against Mink’s abdomen. Mink catches what bare skin he can with his tongue, enjoying the way Clear pants with each pass of sliding pressure across his groin.

With a sudden gasp, Clear looks at his hands and then tugs off his gloves, tossing them over his shoulder. With an expression of wonder, he slowly slides his bare hands over Mink’s shoulders, his eyes fluttering closed. “You’re so warm, Mink-san,” he murmurs appreciatively.

Mink leans forward, kissing Clear’s chest and capturing one of his nipples in his mouth. Clear makes a surprised noise that trails off into a moan, looking down at Mink. Mink flicks his tongue across it, biting it gently and relishing the half-strangled cry that gurgles out of Clear’s throat. “Mink-san!  That’s too much!”

Cradling Clear in one arm, Mink reaches between them, unbuckling Clear’s belt and unbuttoning his pants, spreading the zipper open. Clear’s cock has already created a dark spot on his underwear; Mink rubs his thumb through it and Clear jerks, his voice rising in pitch.

“Mink-san, it’s too much, _please_ ,” he begs, “I don’t want to…yet…” He writhes as Mink slides his hand under the waistband of Clear’s underwear and wraps his hand around Clear’s dick, slowly pumping his length. Clear moans, giving up delaying his orgasm, curling his hands around Mink’s shoulders as he rocks himself forward into Mink’s fist.

“Mink-san, I’m… close!”  He gasps, his hips moving erratically. Great lungfuls of air leave him again as cries and whimpers. He looks down at Mink, his eyes half closed. Mink‘s mouth goes dry at the erotic face Clear is making. He tightens his fingers as Clear ruts against him, mewling in delight.

“I—Mink-san! I’m—Nngh!” Clear’s orgasm is sudden; he hunches over, his mouth open, groaning loudly as he spills himself in Mink’s hand. Mink strokes him gently until he stops shaking, barely aware of Clear’s nails carving half-moons in his back. Clear pants, sagging against Mink as his breathing slows.

“Mink-san… “Clear mumbles into Mink’s shoulder, “You… You didn’t…”

Mink shakes his head slowly. “No, I didn’t.”

Clear pulls back to look into Mink’s face, distress knitting his brow. “But you—“

“—will be fine.”  He pushes Clear’s hair away from his face with one hand. Clear looks so upset that Mink pulls him down for a kiss, this one less rushed, less fervent. Clear cups Mink’s head in his hands, tenderly returning the kiss. 

“It won’t take long for me to recover,” Clear mumbles into the kiss, moving his head to press his lips to Mink’s temple and then his earlobe.  “And then we can do it again,” he whispers into Mink’s ear.

Mink shifts underneath Clear, closing his eyes as Clear nibbles at his ear and neck. His erection had been flagging and he would have been satisfied with just making Clear come the once, but a promise like that hissed into his ear sends blood rushing to his cock. Clear’s weight becomes an infuriating, delicious pressure on him that he aches to push up into.  

Clear backs up off of Mink’s lap, using Mink’s shoulder to steady himself as he finds his feet.  Mink sucks in a welcome breath of relief, grabbing a small cloth to clean off his hand. He reaches down to unfasten his pants and walks to his small table, picking up a small, flat tin. It is not the ideal solution to the problem of lubrication during sex; for that he needs plants from his homeland. But this version of it is easier to make, if significantly less fragrant.

Clear finishes undressing and pulls back the thin blanket and sheet, sliding into bed. He watches Mink, his eyelids heavy with lust and a soft smile around his mouth. Mink returns to bed with the tin, unscrewing it and spinning the top off before placing it on the floor near the bed and shoving his pants and underwear down and kicking them aside.

The bed creaks loudly under the weight of the two of them, so much that Clear’s eyes widen as Mink moves. “Mink-san, if we… “ Clear looks down, blushing. “It’ll be loud.”

Mink stares at him before sighing gruffly, a hint of a smile around his lips. “I don’t care.”

“Ehh? But we’ll be heard!” Clear hisses, looking scandalized.

“Let them hear us,” Mink replies, reaching for him and pressing a deep, insistent kiss to his lips. Clear melts against him, wrapping his arms around Mink’s neck, hanging against him and returning the kiss until they’re both out of breath, consumed in each other’s desire.

“Clear,” Mink starts, his throat constricted, “What can I do?”

Clear blinks, looking confused. “What do you mean?”

Mink sighs, abandoning all pretense at subtlety. “Do you want to me to enter you or do you want to enter me?”

The blush intensifies in Clear’s cheeks  as he looks down, only to have to look away as his eyes fall on Mink’s erect cock. “I think… I would like you to enter me.  At least for right now.”

Mink’s lips twist slightly at Clear’s self-consciousness. He is endearing in nearly everything he does, and being able to actually see his face only makes it more so. Mink leans off the edge of the bed, picking up the tin.  “Then lie back.”

Clear reclines slowly, watching Mink’s movements; Mink pushes his legs open, sliding between them.  Mink runs his fingers over Clear’s chest and stomach and Clear squirms, his eyes closing and then opening again. His legs open wider and he twitches his hips up as Mink’s fingers slide between his thighs. Clear’s cock is already beginning to swell with excitement again. He whimpers as Mink takes his cock in hand, stroking him lazily. With his other hand, Mink gathers some ointment from the tin, letting it warm on his fingers.

Clear gasps as Mink’s fingers circle and press against his ass. “M-mink-san! “

Mink pauses, gently rubbing Clear’s entrance. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” Clear says it almost too quickly, rolling his hips upward against Mink’s fingers. Mink presses one finger in and Clear’s eyes snap open, his voice rising, heated moans rising from his lips as Mink's fingers slide in and out of him. When he adds a second finger, Mink scissors his fingers open slowly, wondering how one judges a robot’s readiness.  Clear tosses his head, his legs spreading wider, toes curling as Mink briefly works a third finger into him. Clear’s cock is fully hard again and he reaches down, wrapping his hand around his dick and beginning to jerk himself off.

Mink applies some of the lube to his own cock, sucking in a sharp breath at the sensation of finally touching himself. Clear watches him admiringly and spreads his legs wider as Mink moves forward and settles between them. Mink meets Clear’s eyes as he leans forward, watching Clear’s face change from eyes half-lidded with pleasure and a languid expression to one with slanted eyebrows and a mouth open in a O. Clear pants, struggling to keep his voice down and failing; the moans on the end of every breath stir Mink’s blood as he sinks himself deeper into Clear.

Mink fully intends to wait, to let Clear grow used to him, but Clear wraps his legs around Mink’s, waist, pulling him further in, and Mink groans at the way Clear’s knees fold up next to his ribs, opening himself up for Mink. He thrusts once, and Clear yelps in surprise. Almost immediately, his hands are at the small of Mink’s back, urging him forward again, and with no small amount of relief, Mink leans over Clear, supporting himself on one elbow. His hand slides up the back of Clear’s thigh, holding his legs open, and he brushes his lips across Clear’s forehead as he begins to move.

“Mink-san!” Clear shudders, his voice cracking. “More, please!” He stops speaking to moan and then manages to add another tense “please!” at the end of it. Mink angles his hips up into him and is rewarded with a small scream and wide pink eyes. He continues to thrust into him at that angle, his stomach muscles tightening with the effort.  Clear sobs as another orgasm seizes his body, his hips flexing up into Mink and toes curling, cum dribbling from his slit.  Mink slides his hands underneath Clear’s ass, pinning him down as he loses his rhythm. His breathing is fast, uneven, and he grits his teeth, grimacing and reaching for release.  His throat tightens as he comes, turning the cry of his orgasm into a savage growl. He buries himself as deep as he can, pouring his semen into Clear’s ass.  Sound recedes from him; the force of his orgasm makes his ears ring. Sweat drips down the side of his face as he leans over Clear, breathing hard.

Clear looks up at him, his face serene. “Mink-san,” he murmurs, tucking a dreadlock back behind his ear. Mink grunts, easing himself out of Clear and shifting to the side, reclining next to Clear with his head up on his hand.  After a few moments, Mink swings one leg out of bed and stands up just enough to turn off the light, blanketing the room in darkness. He slides back into bed and Clear scoots closer, resting his arm over Mink’s hip. Mink moves so that Clear can tuck his head into the crook of his arm.

“We will have to talk tomorrow,” Mink says in a low voice, folding his arm around Clear’s back and pressing his palm to it.

“Mmm,” Clear mumbles dreamily, his fingers lightly grazing Mink’s brown skin. “Yes, Mink-san.”

Mink turns his head toward Clear in the darkness, a small smile curving his lips as he presses them to Clear’s forehead. To think that _he_ would ever have anything to be grateful to Toue for, even a little bit, was enough to make anyone laugh.  


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clear and Mink spend more time than they ought to in bed. Plans are put into motion to bring the fight to Toue and Mink and Clear solemnly reflect on the morning before the attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: tigerine.tumblr.com  
> tracked tag: #tigerine
> 
> Thanks to Sinderlin for a read-through. 
> 
> Hope you guys have been enjoying the ride so far. Thanks so much for all the comments, anons and follows. They really brighten my day and I love hearing from you <3

Mink awakens slowly, shifting in bed, dimly aware of the presence of a warm body next to him. It makes him pause in his half-asleep state before he recalls the events of the night before: Clear’s return to Scratch, his tearful recounting of Aoba’s fate and then…

A light touch on the shoulder makes him open his eyes in the blackness of his windowless room. “Good morning, Mink-san,” Clear murmurs, and even though Mink knows Clear does not sleep, the sound of a Clear’s husky bedroom voice next to him makes his muscles twitch longingly.

“Morning,” Mink says.

“I noticed your breathing changed,” Clear offers. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Mink hums thoughtfully. “You didn’t startle me.”

Clear is quiet, and he shifts in bed, sitting up. “I’m sorry about last night.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Mink responds, tucking his arms behind his bed and stretching, cracking his toes.

“No, it wasn’t right for me to come in and—“

“And what?”

“I should have waited until you were awake to tell you about Master.”

“Clear, are you regretting what we did together last night?” Mink keeps his voice carefully neutral.

It means different things to the two of them, the word regret. For Clear, regretting spending the night with Mink is certainly possible; he’s flaunted his grandfather’s wishes and thrown his lot in with a lawless man who barely disguises his plans for murder. Mink would not be surprised if Clear regrets it; he is an austere man on his best days and an unsavory brute on his worst. He is not the most attentive lover Clear could have taken, and if Clear chooses to never share his bed again, Mink will be disappointed, but not exactly surprised.

Clear doesn’t respond at first and then Mink feels his weight shift closer and the warmth of Clear’s bare skin against his own. “I don’t regret it at all, Mink-san.”

Clear’s soft words settle over Mink like a thick, woolly blanket. The relief he feels, like a feeling of pressure suddenly gone from his chest, surprises him. He’s glad to hear Clear say it out loud. Mink rumbles an assent.

“Do you?” Clear rests his head against Mink, his ear pressed to the wall of his chest.

For Mink, to regret sleeping with Clear is not difficult. It just means that Clear will be sad when he is dead, whether he kills himself or dies of old age, one more sad heart in a world full of them.  For Clear, Mink regretting his choice is a much graver matter. He can’t shake the feeling that Mink’s comfort might be rooted in pity. Clear took a great risk, personal and emotional, in sharing his secrets, his body, and a bed with Mink. If Mink rejects him now, he will likely never trust anyone again.

Mink hums low in his throat, his arm drifting down around Clear’s shoulders and his hand gently stroking Clear’s hair. “No.”

He feels Clear’s cheek bunch up in a smile against his chest.

“But we do need to talk.”

Clear lifts his head; Mink’s hand falls away from his hair and settles on his arm. Mink senses Clear’s eyes on him in the darkness. “About what, Mink-san?”

“About what you saw yesterday.”

“Oh,” Clear replies, sounding crestfallen. “Master was… very different.”

“Did he treat you poorly?”

“Y-yes,” Clear says, his voice wavering uncertainly. He seems to struggle with the idea that his Master could do anything wrong, but he can't deny what he saw in front of him. “But he had… been drained of his color, somehow. His hair was as white as mine, his skin the same color, and his eyes were pale… very pale…” Clear struggles with getting the words to come out.

“He was acting strangely. He took off his robes in front of me and then—“ Clear stops abruptly, lifting his head to look at Mink; Mink’s fingers had ceased their restless motion over his shoulder, and then Mink presses Clear closer to his side.

“Go on,” Mink says, his voice measured and even.

“With Koujaku-san, he… “ His voice is distant, as if he’s holding the memory at arm’s length. Clear’s arm creeps across Mink’s waist, gathering him close. “Koujaku-san is not the same either. His hair is red, his eyes are… “Clear shivers with the memory. “He is chained up in a cell and cannot speak, like an animal. He is bigger, stronger." Pressing his face against Mink's side, he mumbles, " _So_ strong; he bit Master. There was so much blood, and Master, he seemed to _enjoy_ it.”

Mink is silent, absorbing the information. Aoba and Koujaku both lost their minds; one is now some sort of beast man and the other is his masochistic jailer with the ability to use his voice to destroy.  “We would be better off killing him. Killing them both,” he muses out loud.

Clear jerks away from Mink. “K-kill Master? I couldn’t!”

“Why not?”

"Mink-san, you mustn’t kill him! I will have to oppose you if you try, Mink-san, and I—“ Clear clings to Mink, his breathing quickening in distress. “I don’t want to!”

Mink lifts his head as if he is going to look more closely at Clear, unfolding his other arm from behind his head. Clear moves suddenly, shifting to sit astride Mink, locking his legs along Mink’s sides. He uses his strength to pin Mink’s arms against the bed, the chain links on his manacles clanking.

“Oi, Clear—“

“You can’t, Mink-san,” Clear says, and Mink hears the desperate rebellion in his voice. “I won’t let you.”

“Clear, your Master is…”

“Don’t!” Clear’s strong fingers tighten around Mink’s forearms, digging into his muscles. Mink is startled by his strength and his anger. It is more painful than he thought it would be, watching Clear's heart break for his Master.

“He’s broken,” Mink says gently, and Clear recoils on top of him as if he’s been slapped. He doesn’t move as Mink sits up and folds his arms around him. Clear wordlessly slides his arms around Mink, his forehead resting on Mink’s strong shoulder.

“Mink-san,” he says in a quiet voice. “I’m defective. I don’t work like I was intended to.  I shouldn’t exist—“

“Clear—“

“Listen to me, please,” Clear begs, and at the plea in his voice, Mink falls silent.  “I was supposed to be incinerated with the other garbage, but my grandfather saved me. He took me home with him and gave me a new life.”  Clear’s arms tighten around Mink, and his voice is thin and unsure. “Can’t we do that for Koujaku-san and Master?”

Mink slides his hands up Clear’s back, resting his palms on Clear’s shoulder blades. He can’t answer; he doesn’t believe that anything can actually be done for Aoba or Koujaku. Toue has had months to work on them. All he had to do was break one and then the other would fall.

Now, it is probably too late for either of them.

“Mink-san.”

Mink tightens his arms around Clear. Saying no is too much and saying yes is promising something he can’t guarantee. However much he would like to help Aoba, he still has one goal that supersedes all others, one goal more important than his life. Until then, he can’t think of anything else.  Mink slides his hands down Clear’s back and around Clear’s ribcage, feeling Clear sway towards him. He closes his eyes in the darkness. Nothing else matters as much as Toue.

Clear slides his fingers through Mink’s locks, turning Mink’s face up; the press of his lips against Mink’s is warm and urgent. Mink pulls Clear up against him, feeling the stiffening length of Clear’s cock hot against his stomach.

“Again?” he inquires huskily, his fingertips grasping at Clear’s body.

“Again,” Clear replies, his voice pained.

Clear finds the tin of salve, pushed up near the pillow and forgotten during the night. He holds it while Mink dips his fingers into it and then sets it aside, clinging to him as Mink slides his hand around to Clear’s hole. Clear’s gasp turns into a moan as Mink slips one finger into him, stroking the smooth inner walls and pressing forward into a hard mass behind Clear’s swollen dick. The movement has a similar effect on Clear as it would on any human partner.

“Mink-san! What are you doing??” Clear grates out, his voice rising in sudden ecstasy, his hips jerking.

Mink tilts his head up and Clear kisses him feverishly, holding on to his neck and groaning as Mink’s second finger prepares him.  His voice is much louder than it was last night, freer and less restrained. A smile twitches at the corner of Mink’s mouth listening to Clear cry out on top of him. An emotive lover is something new to Mink; he is used to quiet, businesslike transactions of bodily fluids and mutual understanding, or else his own hand when even those are unavailable. Clear’s eagerness and naïveté are refreshing, and his cries downright alluring.

“Mink-san,” Clear pants. “Let me… “ Clear eases up off of Mink’s hand, pulling himself off of Mink’s fingers with a whimper of loss. Clear stands on one leg, reaching above him to pull on the light. The sudden brightness is blinding and Mink blinks several times as Clear settles back astride him.

“I want you to… watch me, Mink-san.”

“Watch you?”

“Yes,” Clear answers, kissing Mink quickly and then scooting down, looking at Mink’s body admiringly.

Mink’s engorged shaft half-rests against his belly, and Clear is gentle with it as he scoops up more of the tincture and melts it against Mink’s dick. He works the shaft slowly, and Mink leans back on his elbows, watching Clear’s hair shine in the weak light as he examines his work. It dawns on Mink that Clear is going to ride him and it makes his fingers tighten into his palm with anticipation.

Clear positions himself and then lowers his hips, his mouth open and expression intense. He pants heavily, whimpering as he pushes himself down onto Mink.  He drinks in the image of his dick getting swallowed up by Clear’s body and his eyes roll back in his head in spite of himself.

“Mink-san,” Clear breathes, pausing in threading himself onto Mink, “Watch me.”

Clear’s thighs settle onto Mink’s hips and Mink pushes up into him in spite of himself.  Clear leans over Mink, pressing his hands into the bed with a creak of the springs.

“I-I’m going to move,” he manages, almost to himself. Mink’s hands drift to Clear’s hips and he keeps his eyes open obediently, meeting Clear’s lusty gaze. Clear lifts his hips once and then slams them back down, a hoarse yell breaking from his mouth.  Mink steadies him with one hand and grasps his erection with the other, letting Clear work himself over with his own movements.

Clear’s voice rises as he grinds himself down on Mink; he seems to lose himself in the way he rolls against Mink with abandon. His head falls back, his pale throat bobbing as he gulps in air. “Mink-san, Mink-san… “

Mink’s name becomes an entreaty, an oath, a promise, and an exclamation. It spills from Clear unbidden, filling Mink’s ears with a delightful music. Clear arches his back, a wild cry escaping his open lips as his orgasm seizes him, spilling over Mink’s fingers. He falls forward, supporting himself with his elbows. Mink’s hands slide to the undersides of Clear’s thighs, gripping them tightly and then thrusting up into Clear. Clear mewls softly with each penetration, alternating between resting his forehead against Mink’s chest and looking up into Mink’s face; he can stand neither for very long.  Mink builds easily as Clear holds on to his shoulders, rocking his hips back against Mink’s. His release is slow and achingly long; Clear smiles his approval at Mink’s breathless growls of pleasure.

Mink reaches a hand up and pushes Clear’s hair out of his eyes.  “We can’t lie in bed all day.”

Clear stretches contentedly, pulling away from Mink’s body with a sticky sound; his come is smeared over both their stomachs. “No, we can’t,” Clear says as he rocks forward off of Mink’s softening dick and settles in next to him in bed.

A deafening silence fills the air between them  and Mink drags his fingertips over Clear’s back thoughtfully. “I cannot promise anything, Clear,” Mink says at last. “But if the opportunity presents itself, I will do what I can.”

“I’ll leave them in your hands, Mink-san,” Clear says softly, pulling himself closer to Mink.

They drowse together for a few moments longer before Mink sits up and begins dressing himself. As he shrugs on his coat, Clear reaches for his gas mask and settles it over his face. It is strange to Mink to see the mask where Clear’s face should be, but if he feels like he needs it still, then Mink does not argue.  When they exit, Sajima is waiting for them. He looks only at Mink; he does not spare a second glance for Clear.

“Mink.”

Mink nods. “Sajima. What did you find out?”

Sajima rolls his shoulders noncommittally, flicking through pages of information on his Coil. “Schedule checks out. No reason why it shouldn’t work.” He looks up at Mink over the rims of his glasses.  “Seems like a big risk to take to kidnap someone.”

“This person is important,” Mink says. “We will need him.”

Sajima shrugs. “Whatever you say.” 

The next week is busy as Mink and Sajima work out where to best place the explosives near the bloated wall of Platinum Jail. Details of the operation are kept to a minimum, especially when speaking to Tae. Mink decides that her grandson’s fate is not yet sealed, and if she must be told what he has become, let it be when there are no other options left to them but death.

Sajima and Tae both note the increased closeness between Mink and Clear. Clear still goes to Mink’s room to sing every night, but now he spends the moments afterward in a heated embrace with his lover. The bunk reserved for Clear in the makeshift dormitory is left untouched for several days, and Tae’s suspicions are confirmed when she sees Mink and Clear leave Mink’s room together in the morning. She doesn’t approve of Mink, especially for Clear, whose gentle nature and strong devotion to Aoba have endeared him to her. But she sees the change it makes in Mink; perhaps most noticeably, he spends more time talking to the refugees and finding out what they need. Their supplies are running low and Scratch’s thefts are becoming more risky and less productive.

Two days before Toue leaves for Hong Kong, Mink moves the families of Scratch and Beni-Shigure from one side of the North District to the other; the best place to bomb the wall is near their hideout. Mink is too cautious to risk a counterstroke against him that would fell anyone else. Scratch and Beni-Shigure continue to operate out of their shared hideout.

On the night that they plant the explosives cache, Mink places a call over his Coil.

“Yes.”

“Secure this line, maniac.”

“… done.”

“We’re moving tomorrow. After Toue’s jet lands in Hong Kong.”

Noiz smirks over the call. “Decided to trust me?”

“No, my men were able to confirm your information. It has nothing to do with you.”

“Then why call me?”

Mink hesitates for a moment. “Anyone who gives information for free needs something out of it.”  He sighs roughly. “I suspect you only need to know that I am doing something.”

Noiz is quiet but then nods. “Yeah.”

Mink nods back. “It’ll be a big boom,” he warns.

“Good,” Noiz replies, with ice in his voice.

The hum of the open Coil fills their silence until--“…good luck, maniac.”

“…good luck, Mink.”

That night is restless. Clear exhausts Mink early in the evening with repeated demands for sex and attention, and they drift into an uneasy slumber, with Clear listening to Mink’s breathing as he moves through the cycles of sleep, only entering rest mode when he is satisfied that Mink is in deep sleep.

The alarm on Mink’s coil illuminates the room and Mink heaves himself up immediately. It’s not like he’s slept very much. Clear shifts out of the bed, sitting on the edge as Mink turns on the light and moves the wooden chair over to his altar and sits in front of it, reflecting. Clear waits patiently for Mink to finish, looking at his broad, naked back. After a few moments, Mink stands, carefully shoving the chair in and turns to face Clear.

“You seem very serious today, Mink-san,” Clear says solemnly.

Mink’s brow knits together. “Many things will happen today.”

Clear regards him quietly. “Yes, for Master and Koujaku-san, as well as for Mink-san and myself.” He rests his arms on propped-up knees, looking at Mink with a tilted head. “Are you afraid?”

“No.”

Clear looks at Mink, shaking his head. “That is not a good attitude to have at all, Mink-san.”

Mink begins to get dressed, pulling his pants up. “It’s the one I’ve got, Clear.”

“Humans should be afraid of death,” Clear says quietly. “Robots…more of us can always be made, but each human is unique.”

Mink tugs his shirt on, pulling it flat over his chest. He doesn’t respond at first to Clear’s statement, but Clear knows better than to pipe up. Mink’s face has that brooding look he gets when he is thinking, and Clear can measure it to within micrometers.

“You’re right.” Mink says at last, picking up his belt and threading it through the loops on his pants. “Each human is unique. But,” he says, “I do not think you are not human.”

Clear lifts his head off his knees, confusion clouding his features. “But I am… a robot, Mink-san. You’ve seen—“

“—your kindness, your patience, your spirit,” Mink says, pulling on his coat. “You have a generous heart and a good soul.” He tugs the coat down, seating it on his shoulders. “You are as human as Tae-san, and worth protecting.”

Clear’s hand tightens into a fist. “But Mink-san—“

“You’re not listening to me, Clear,” Mink says, and Clear suddenly feels like Mink is very old, and very tired.  Mink sits on the bed next to him and reaches up to his face, brushing the backs of his fingers over Clear’s cheek and trailing them down to catch Clear’s chin between his forefinger and thumb. Clear reaches up and touches Mink’s cheek, wrapping his other hand around the one that’s captured his chin. Mink mirrors Clear’s intimacy, covering the pale hand on his cheek with his dark one. Mink stares into Clear’s eyes silently.

“Mink-san,” Clear says quietly, resting his forehead against Mink’s, “why does this feel like a goodbye?”

“Because either one of us could be killed today,” Mink says simply. “And I would rather die with no regrets.”

“With no regrets,” Clear repeats, before leaning forward and gently kissing Mink. Mink receives his affection, but is reluctant to return it. Clear's other hand cups the other side of Mink's face, and he kisses him again, pulling at Mink's lips with his, opening his mouth and silently asking for reciprocation. It comes distractedly, as if Mink's mind is elsewhere, somewhere far away that Clear can't reach. With a final peck at the corner of Mink's mouth, Clear ends the kiss and takes Mink's hand, pressing it to his lips and then letting it fall. 

Mink watches him through lowered lashes and lets out a small sigh. “You were never supposed to be here,” he says in a voice barely above a whisper, “But I have no regrets.”

Standing, he grabs his boots and carries them over his shoulder. “Get dressed. Platinum Jail won’t bomb itself.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mink puts his plan against Toue into action. Mink, Clear, and members of Scratch and Beni-Shigure use a massive bomb to create a diversion, giving them the opportunity to enter Oval Tower undetected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: tigerine.tumblr.com  
> tracking: #tigerine
> 
> Sorry this has taken so long; the next chapter is already nearly done, but i needed to be able to have them side-by-side. Thank you for your patience and continued support. Please don't be afraid to comment here or in an ask on my tumblr (even anons!). I may not respond, but I read every one of them and they fill me with joy.

Mink watches his men check their weapons; some of the Beni-Shigure men have only passing familiarity with automatic firearms and the need for them has been limited.

He glances at Clear, standing several feet away, gas mask in place, and hands in his pockets. Clear is much more subdued this morning than any morning in the past week. Also absent this morning is Tae-san. She is always uneasy around weapons, and this morning she appears to have simply chosen not to see them off. It’s just as well.

“Wall team, are you ready?”

Sajima looks at him, his detonator briefcase in hand, and nods. His team is made up mostly of Scratch members, especially those that have familiarity with bomb placement.

“Sajima has set up the bombs so that an entire section of Platinum Jail’s wall will come down. Your objective is to make sure that happens. Since you are moving in first, you may or may not encounter Toue’s guards or members of the police force. If you do, orders are the same as they always are: shoot to disable if you can, and to kill if you can’t.” Members of the wall team nod grimly, their fingers tightening around their guns.

“After the wall is down, retreat as quickly and safely as you can. Regroup here and then use the tunnels to get to the new base.” Mink’s eyes move over their faces, noting their intense eyes, their set jaws. They look like soldiers, more than they ever have before, and he is grateful for their determination.

“Good luck. Have the forward group move ahead,” Mink orders.

Sajima looks at three of his men and nods; they pull their guns over their shoulders and move toward the exit, into the tunnels. The rest of the men pick up extra clips and file after them.

The tower team is equally composed of Scratch and Beni-Shigure members, including the black-haired man, Kou. Each of them has a disposable Coil, stolen from the warehouses of Platinum Jail’s visitor center. They trade grim stares with each other. Half of them remember Aoba by way of the splitting headache and spotty memories they suffered after they restrained and assaulted him. Half of them remember him as Koujaku’s childhood friend with a penchant for sarcasm. None of them but Clear knows what they’re actually hunting.

“Tower team, we’re smaller, but this is because we have to move fast. We’re not expecting a lot of resistance, but we should be prepared to encounter it. Our target is Aoba; his hair and skin have been dyed white and we think he is wearing white robes. Do not let him touch you and do not listen to him speak. When he has been captured and restrained, I will send out a notification on your disposable Coils.

“Our secondary objective is Koujaku. Once Aoba has been secured, we will move in to take him. He is unarmed, but very, very dangerous. Do not approach him without help. We’ll be using chloroform for both of them.

“Lastly, we believe that Toue has upgraded his security systems recently. We can no longer hack into his systems to disable the guard Allmates, so we have to resort to an old, dirty method.” Mink reaches into his coat pocket, pulling out a small cylinder that had been wired up with a device. “Capacitor bombs. You only have one each, so make them count. Just pull the insulator out from between the contacts and throw it.”

Each of them looks at their small mission packs like it’s a snake; the capacitor bombs are literally assembled out of trash capacitors from dumps around the Northern District, charged up to their limit and wired with compressible contacts. Sajima’s expertise with circuits was a great help, and the small EMP they generate might be enough to disrupt the Allmates’ delicate electronics. Mink looks at the dead capacitor in his hand and hopes that it doesn’t come to that. Once the defense-type Allmates find them, the clock is against them.

Mink looks at Clear, wishing he could read the face behind the mask. It seems a hindrance to him now that he knows the face underneath it so well, but it forces him instead to look at Clear’s body language. His gloved hands are out of his pockets, clenched into loose fists, and he is unnaturally still. Normally Clear’s exuberance is matched only by that of the children, but today, he is nearly a statue. Mink snorts softly. He cannot help Clear through today. He has his own concerns.

“Tower team, let’s go!” Mink booms. “Have those cells ready!”

The clatter of weaponry being shouldered is followed by the quick bootsteps of ten men. They’re quiet, quieter than any group of swaggering thugs has any right to be, but once they pass the skeleton team left guarding the entrance, they become nearly silent. Walking heel-to-toe, they glide through the darkness, guns ready. Mink leads them, as he always has, and Clear is right behind him.

They reach the exit and fan out, pressing against walls. Mink nods at the lookout. With binoculars, he shins up the stairs of the ruined building. They wait, tense, looking out at the cleared rubble field beyond. Mink narrows his eyes, looking for the door into Platinum Jail, but a soft touch at his elbow brings his attention to Clear.

Clear is still, his head cocked. He holds up one finger; on the tenth floor of the building above them, the lookout has scratched the wall once with a piece of twisted rebar. Mink watches Clear intently, and when the second finger goes up, indicating the all-clear, he lifts his eyes to his men. With his hand motion, they emerge from the building, running full-tilt across the rubble field. They reach the corridor and Mink turns to make sure his men have all made it. He looks up to the tenth floor and waves once. He does not see the return signal, but he cannot stop to wait.

“Lights,” he orders in a low voice, striding past the rest of the team. They move as a unit, two beams of light sweeping across the dank access corridor. Clear hovers at Mink’s elbow, his head mimicking Mink’s movements as they search the dark places for cameras and sensors. They hadn’t been able to risk a reconnaissance team; tipping Toue off was too risky. They had to do it all at once, one decisive action that would decide everything.

They walk for what seems like ages, following the rails. When they reach the end of the line, the set of four doors that leads into Platinum Jail is unguarded. Mink narrows his eyes; everything has gone according to plan so far and it makes him uneasy. There are only two cameras; one trained on the entrance, and one trained on the small rail terminal beyond it. Mink turns, looking at the blond man behind him, Sato.

Mink points up at the camera pointed at the rail depot and Sato nods, taking out a small jar and a square of plastic from his mission pack. He dumps the contents of the jar, a combination of pitch and thick mud, onto the plastic and then reaches behind his back, slipping a badminton racket out of his webbed belt. With a quick press of his fingers, the plastic is loosely wedged into the racket and he looks at Mink, who nods.

Sato creeps out under the blind spot of the motor pool camera and hefts the racket gingerly. With a quick swat, he bats the camera’s lens with the thick filth and then scoots past into the alcove of the door marked ‘Personnel Only’ just beyond. The rest of the team slips behind him, but with any luck, the state of the camera will not be noticed until they’re well on their way out.

Clear yanks on the door; it gives much more easily than it did the first time, but the hinges still shriek with disuse. Eager to get away from the open entrance area, they slip through the door, crowding into the access corridor. When the door is closed, Mink turns and nods at the men and then looks at Clear.

“This way,” Clear says quietly, moving past them into the low tunnels. Mink has to duck his head under some of the conduits. They pause at his first jellyfish mark; Mink shines a light on it and looks to his men.

“Everyone see it? If we have to bug out, follow these.”

The men all nod their heads slightly. Mink clicks off his flashlight and checks his Coil. “We have fifteen minutes to get as far as we can before Sajima blows the wall. Make ‘em count.”

The men move forward, their guns pointed down, moving quickly through the endless tunnels. They are nearly halfway to Oval Tower when a low, hollow boom shakes the corridor. The crack of the explosion filters in from the grates overhead, mingled with the shrill cries and screams of people on the street. Mink looks up at the panicked footsteps of people fleeing across the grate and then at the men, his jaw set.

“That’s them. Move, now!”

Abandoning stealth, the Scratch members move forward at a near run, their boots splashing through small puddles, skipping around bundles of cables on the walls and large pipes.

“Wait!” Clear calls, alarm in his voice.

A red beam from a branching corridor hits one of the forward men, a Scratch member named Shiro, in the side. The flash of light is blinding in the darkness, and Mink steps to the wall of the corridor, flicking the safety off his gun.

“Sato! Is he dead?”

“Can’t tell!”

“Can you get a clear shot?”

Sato pauses and then inches to the corner of the tunnel junction, reaching behind him for his badminton racket. No sooner does he hold it out in view of the Allmate than another laser beam lances through the air, melting the end of the racket.

“Fuck!”

Sato aims his gun around the corner and fires; when a ray of heat doesn’t immediately melt through his arm, he steps out and aims properly, turning the head of the Allmate into a mass of twisted metal. It steps around uncertainly, whirring in confusion.

“Cap it!” The order is nearly lost in the commotion to turn Shiro over.

“Yes!”

Kou reaches into his bag and pulls out a capacitor. With a single well-placed kick, he topples the blind Allmate. Its legs scrabble against the floor as it tries to right itself, but Kou’s boot on its neck keeps it from gaining too much traction. He gingerly slips the bit of bathroom tile that keeps the capacitor from discharging out from between the contacts and then steps back, dropping the cylinder contacts-down on the Allmate.

The show of sparks and the smell of singed acrylic fur is all the proof he needs that the Allmate won’t be firing on anyone again. Mink flicks on his light to look at the wound while Clear stands next to him, his head turned toward the sizzling Allmate. If he seems disturbed by the machine’s end, he does not show it.

“Mink-san…”

Mink holds the flashlight in his mouth, pulling at the Scratch member’s clothing. “Don’t move,” he orders. Shiro lays still while Mink examines his wound, wheezing and hissing in pain when Mink’s fingers open it to assess the damage. The wound goes clear through him, cauterized and ugly. “Gut shot,” Mink says simply. “It’s not going to be a quick death.”

He leans over and picks up Shiro’s head, cradling it from underneath. The man’s complexion is already paling. “What do you want me to do?”

“I… I want to live….”

Mink’s lips thin in a grimace. “Can you walk?”

The man nods hesitantly. They help him to his feet and he groans low, holding his arm to his belly.

“Sato. Get him out of here. If he makes it to the Wall, get him medical attention. If he doesn’t…” Mink’s eyes flick to the gun around Sato’s midsection and then back to Sato’s eyes in a meaningful look. “Then make it fast.”

Sato nods, taking Mink’s meaning immediately. “Understood.”

“Mink-san!” The gut-shot man reaches out for Mink’s hand and he grasps it in a firm shake. “Good luck,” he whines.

Mink nods curtly and then Sato shrugs his comrade’s arm over his shoulder. With a nod to Mink, they head back down the jellyfish corridors. Out of the ten men he brought with him, only seven remain. Mink thumbs the safety of his gun back on and then looks up, hearing sirens in the distance. “Let’s move, we don’t have much time.”

The door to Oval Tower isn’t much further, and everyone has a heightened sense of alertness as they double-time it in the darkness, pointing their guns around every corner.

“Mink-san,” Clear says haltingly, easily keeping pace with Mink’s speedy walk.

“What?”

“That man. Will he live?”

“Probably not,” Mink replies shortly.

“Did you order Sato-san to kill him?”

“Everyone gets the right to determine how they die,” Mink says, his hand tightening around the machine gun’s grip, eyes searching the darkness. “He just doesn’t have a lot of choices left.”

“Will Sato-san kill him?”

“If he asks for a bullet, Sato will give him one, yes.” Mink looks at Clear, at the yellow-orange emergency lights that paint his face as they run forward. “A quick death is kinder than a lingering one. Only evil men make others suffer.”

“Are you an evil man, Mink-san?”

Mink glances at Clear as they run. “Sometimes.”

Clear does not speak again until they reach the door marked O.T. Mink and Kou look at the door and then at the three Beni-Shigure members that are standing ready. With a small nod, Mink eases open the door and slides the muzzle of his gun into the crack, gingerly opening it enough to slide a steel mirror through. The hallway beyond is empty.

Everyone files in quickly, their boots seeming suddenly too loud in the bowels of Oval Tower.

“This way,” Clear says, walking past Mink and leading them through the double doors to the cell block. His steps are quick, sure; even angry.

They arrive at the cell block and Clear strides forward fearlessly, walking down the hall until he stops in front of a cell. The sound of a great beast shuffling and dragging chains echoes in the empty cells.

“Koujaku-san?” Clear asks uncertainly.

Mink reaches Clear, letting his gun hang from his shoulder and looking on the creature Koujaku has become with something like disbelief. Koujaku’s hulking form is curled in a half-fetal position in the corner, his arms held back behind him in stationary manacles. His hair is a shock of red, his white kimono in tatters around his waist.

“Koujaku! Kouja….ku,” Kou says, stopping as he lays eyes on his friend. “What the fuck?” He turns to look at Mink and then looks at Clear. “This isn’t Koujaku!”

Clear’s chin falls against his chest. “I am sorry, Kou-san, but, I believe this really is Koujaku-san.”

“What the fuck did they do to him?”

Mink shakes his head. “Later.” He opens his mission pack and pulls out a small bottle and a rag.

“Let me do it,” Kou says, reaching out a hand for the chloroform. Mink shakes his head, soaking the rag. Pushing Kou’s outstretched hand aside, Mink opens the cell door, ignoring the squeal of the hinges. Koujaku lifts his head, snarling, his rest disturbed.

“What’s the matter, Koujaku…?” A sleepy voice asks. “Is it the Alphas?”

“Master!” Clear cries out, his fingers curling around the iron bars. Koujaku growls and lurches to his feet, stooped under the pull of the chains. Hidden behind him, Aoba, his robes bunched around his waist, blood and cum smeared over his naked skin.

Mink narrows his eyes at Aoba’s debauched state, his nostrils flaring. “You’ve turned out poorly,” he says.

Aoba smiles, but it is a cruel smile that Clear has never seen on Aoba before. “Ah, Mink,” he replies in a singsong voice. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“We had a deal.”

“You and Aoba had a deal,” Aoba spits, his face twisting. “I was not involved at all.”

“Then I’ll talk to him,” Mink says. “Let him out.”

“Never,” Aoba rasps, his lip curling.

Mink sighs roughly, hefting the rag in his hand. “You’re still an idiot.”

Aoba lifts a hand to his chest, his false smile widening. “I’m offended, Mink.”

“That’s not my problem,” Mink replies, stepping further into the cell, ignoring the way Koujaku bristles and flexes his muscles in preparation to pounce. “You’re coming with me.”

“Am I?” Aoba gets to his feet, stretching. His robes fall into place, hiding his nudity. “Did you hear that, Koujaku? He wants to take me away from you.”

Koujaku launches himself at Mink with a feral snarl, but Mink is standing just outside Koujaku’s reach. He roars, straining at his chains, but Mink doesn’t step back.

“I’ll take him as well,” Mink says coolly, nonplussed by Koujaku’s apoplexy.

“Oh?” Aoba says, honestly surprised, and then he throws back his head and laughs, holding his sides. “What a joke you are,” he chuckles. “Trying to pretend you’re any better than Toue?”

“Master!” Clear says again, slipping in behind Mink. “Please, come with us. Mink-san will help you get back to—“

“Clear.”

Clear looks at Mink and Mink shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

“Oh,” Aoba says, turning his attention to Clear. His face changes from the cruel smile he leveled at Mink to one of benevolence. “Aren’t you keeping interesting company, Clear?” He shakes his head, his tassels trembling. “Aoba would be so disappointed in you.”

“Mink-san!”

A shout came from the corridor followed by the pop and sizzle of a capacitor discharging. They were out of time. Clear’s fists clench and he looks at Mink, who is still holding the dripping rag. “Take him,” he says, nodding at Aoba. “And go.”

“But Mink-san…”

“Do it,” Mink says, and it is not a request.

Clear looks at Aoba, who brushes off his robes and slips his boots on. “Very well,” he says, “Since I can end you at any time, I suppose I’ll see how long you can entertain me.”

Mink slides one of his feet forward, toward Koujaku. Koujaku’s hands are still bound, but the canines in his mouth look like they could do some serious damage. Dancing out of reach of his lunging snaps, Mink eyes Koujaku, looking for an opening.

It comes when Clear stoops and hefts Aoba over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Koujaku’s eyes drift to Aoba for just a moment, and then Mink is inside his guard, one hand holding his jaw shut, the other pressing the cloth over his mouth and nose. “Breathe deep, Red,” he murmurs.

Koujaku’s blood-red eyes dart wildly from Aoba to Clear to Mink and then slowly, with one long blink and then two, they roll back in his head.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Scratch and Beni-Shigure team withdraw back to the Northern District after the bombing of Platinum Jail. A rough night for Clear leaves Mink feeling conflicted, and it's not made any easier by Tae confronting Mink about her grandson's future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: tigerine.tumblr.com  
> tracked tag: #tigerine  
> Please don't be afraid to come drop an ask in my ask box. It really brightens my day when people just randomly drop in to tell me they enjoyed my writing.
> 
> As always, thanks to my glorious beta Ari and their eagle eye~ I really couldn't do it without them <3

Mink drops Koujaku on the floor roughly. “Chain him in. He’ll come to soon.”

Almost as if he hears them, Koujaku shifts. The jail team has never worked so fast in their lives, welding the leg chains onto the rebar of the Clink. They finish before Koujaku has fully come to his senses and clear out, dragging their gas cylinder and torch with them.

Crouching in front of him, Mink takes out his pipe and a pouch of an herbal mixture, a different one than he usually smokes. Pressing it into the bowl of his pipe, he lights it with a match, slinging the flame out and tossing the match head toward the door.

“Leave us,” Mink says to the guards and they exchange glances before heading for the stairs. When their footsteps echo up the stairwell, Mink draws a deep breath from the pipe and holds it in his mouth before exhaling into Koujaku’s face. It is an acrid, oily smell; Koujaku comes around immediately with a cough and snort.

“I don’t know how much you can understand me,” Mink says, haltingly, his eyes searching Koujaku’s face for some sign of intelligence. “But he speaks to you like you understand, so I assume that some part of you is left in there.” He tucks the stem of his pipe into the corner of his mouth thoughtfully. “If you’re still there, you’re probably in no condition to answer, so I’ll just talk.” Then he laughs under his breath. “And if you’re not, then I’m just having a chat with a beast.”

Mink exhales the smoke into Koujaku’s eyes again and Koujaku chokes on it, still too weak from the chloroform to make any moves toward Mink. Instead, he lies on his side on the single dirty mattress in the cell, his red eyes directed at Mink, his pupils wide open and yellow irises barely visible. His teeth gleam behind lips curled into a snarl.

“I took control of Beni-Shigure after the songs were put into heavy rotation,” he says. “They were leaderless, and I needed men. Midorijima is entirely under Toue’s thumb. The people are all being brainwashed using lights now; they hardly use the songs anymore.” He removes the pipe from his lips, stabbing in Koujaku’s general direction with it.

“Whatever they did to you in there, you must shake it off. Aoba will need you when we bring him back to his senses.”

Koujaku’s snarl eases, his curled lip going slack.

Mink smiles faintly. “Got your attention, Red?”

Koujaku’s eyes close slightly, as if he is blinking to clear something out of his eyes.

Mink exhales softly. “We have a plan. It’s not guaranteed. It’s not even a good plan, but we have nothing else to try, and if we cannot use Aoba’s power, then….”

Mink does not like to think of the lives that might be lost. He does not like to think of the possibility of giving up his quest for vengeance in the face of all the people he might kill on his way there. His teeth grit together.

“If you can’t come back to us, then I’ll put you down,” Mink says, blowing out smoke. “I would do the same for a mad dog,” Mink finishes, sliding the stem of the pipe into his mouth again and sucking in smoke.

A gurgling sound breaks out of Koujaku’s mouth, but it doesn’t resolve into words.

Mink knocks the ash out of his pipe and spits into the ember. With his thumb, he presses the ash into mud with his saliva and then leans forward, pressing it over Koujaku’s upper lip. Koujaku’s breathing rate increases, but his eyes wander uncertainly over Mink’s face. “It’s not ideal,” Mink says, “But it will have to do.”

“Mink-san?”

Mink stands, looking at the door to the cell. Clear opens the door uneasily. “They said you were ready.”

“Yeah.” Mink slips the pipe back into his coat pocket. “Do you know how long it will take?”

Clear closes the door behind him, the metal dragging along the concrete with a horrible screech. “I haven’t ever… tried this. I don’t know.”

Clear’s mask is inscrutable, but the set of his shoulders, like being braced for a fight, tells Mink everything.

“It’s okay if you can’t do it.”

“I want to do it! For Koujaku-san and for Master!”

Mink huffs a humorless laugh and then looks at Koujaku, who is still lying on his side, red eyes unfocused, the paste of ash white on his lip. Then he looks at Clear, at the stiffness in his neck, and he struggles with the desire to pull him closer. At last, he puts his hand on Clear’s shoulder and squeezes it once. “Don’t push yourself, Clear.”

“I have to, Mink-san,” Clear replies, his voice steady. “If Master is not worth pushing myself for, then why should I try at all?”

The words are not intended as a barb, but they slice Mink’s cold heart nonetheless and he lets his hand fall from Clear’s shoulder. As he leaves the cell, Clear begins to sing.

Clear does not come to Mink’s bed that night and he does not show up for their meager breakfast the next morning. He is still singing when Mink goes down to the Clink to feed Aoba. They’re keeping him in a locked bathroom with a cat door on the other end of the floor, dragging a crate in front of it when it isn’t time to feed him.

Mink nods to the guards to move the crate and they scurry out of the way as Mink lifts the cat flap and shoves a plate of rice and beans in through the door, along with a canteen of water. He does not wait to see if Aoba has accepted them; the crate is replaced immediately. With a grim look on his face, he goes to check on Clear.

The difference is immediately evident when Mink enters the cell; Koujaku’s hair is black at the roots. His body is slightly less hulking, and some of the flowers that climbed his shoulders like ivy have shrunk back, pruned by Clear’s song of peace and forgiveness. He sleeps deeply.

Clear is in poor condition; he has sunk to his knees, his song only half its usual volume. Clear looks up to Mink as he comes in and his voice falters behind the mask. The song fades out, leaving only an echo. “Mink-san,” he rasps hoarsely. “He’s…. Koujaku-san is…”

“Yes,” Mink replies in a low voice, offering his hand to Clear to help him up off the ground.

Clear takes it, pulling himself up. “Once he fell asleep, he started to change,” Clear wheezes, his voice thin.

“You need water,” Mink says, his jaw tightening in concern. “I said not to push yourself.”

“He needed it,” Clear protests.

“You are more important than he is, Clear.”

Clear’s mask lifts to look at Mink, and neither of them speak. Mink’s stony countenance mirrors Clear’s unreadable gas mask. Silence stretches between them until Clear drops Mink’s hand without a word, turning to leave the cell.

“Kou-san?”

Mink turns to look at the door, finding Kou there with a small plate of porridge and a steel cup of water. He smiles sheepishly at Clear. “Mornin’, Clear. I thought I’d bring Koujaku something to eat.”

His voice is tired; he likely didn’t sleep at all last night. Mink nods, granting him permission. Kou steps in, looking at Koujaku nervously. “He looks better this morning,” he says.

“Thanks to Clear,” Mink says gruffly.

Kou turns to thank him, but Clear has already headed for the stairs. He turns back, walking to stand next to Mink. They watch Koujaku sleeping together, Kou holding the plate and Mink with his hands in his pockets. “I can’t thank you enough,” Kou says. “You kept your word.”

“He’s not out of the woods yet,” Mink warns him.

“No,” Kou concedes. “But he’s among friends now, and Koujaku has always needed friends.” He looks down at the plate of rice porridge in his hand and smiles weakly. “Especially Aoba.”

Mink regards Kou quietly and then sighs. “That guy is a different matter.” He pauses, turning back to look at Koujaku. Kou opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but the dark look on Mink’s face makes him think better of it.

Mink helps him ease Koujaku into a sitting position, resting his head back against the wall. With pressure at his jaw, his lips open slightly, and Kou dribbles water in at the corner of his mouth. Koujaku swallows reflexively and then sputters, coming fully awake. His eyes are no longer red; his sclera are simply white. He looks wildly from Mink to Kou, snarling.

“Koujaku! Koujaku, easy, easy!” Kou tries, but to no avail. Koujaku heaves against their combined strength; without Mink, Kou would have been thrown across the room. Mink pushes Koujaku into the mattress and holds him down while Kou gets out of his range.

“Mink!”

“Just get back!” With one last shove, he stumbles away from Koujaku, narrowly avoiding the younger man’s jaws closing on his arm. Straightening his coat, he goes to stand with Kou. The Beni-Shigure member’s face is crestfallen; he is completely dismayed at the way his team leader—his friend—has lashed out. It’s a hard thing for anyone to see, how madness has undone someone’s heart.

“Let him be,” Mink says, turning his back on the shaking tattooed shoulders. “He’s still out of his mind.”

“Yeah,” Kou agrees sadly.

Mink leaves the cell and waits for Kou to back away from Koujaku. The improvement is significant. There’s no reason to be optimistic; this is only the first hurdle of many. Clear still has to recover, Koujaku must regain his mind, and then the three of them can decide how to deal with Aoba.

He finds Clear in his bedroom, lying face-up on the bed with his hands folded on top of his stomach. His shoes are neatly paired next to the chair, his scarf and coat are folded on the seat and the gas mask lies on top of them. Mink shuts the door and walks quietly over to the bed, sitting down on the edge.

“Mink-san,” Clear says, his eyes opening.

“Go back to sleep,” Mink says.

Clear smiles weakly. “You know I don’t sleep.”

“Then go back into rest mode.”

Clear nods slowly and he settles back into Mink’s pillow, blinking lazily. He reaches out a hand to catch and wiggle one of Mink’s braids, watching the feather cut through the air. Mink watches him, his face impassive. He supposes that even Clear could be exhausted.

“That man, Shiro-san, did he…?”

Mink blinks and his face pinches in a frown. Sajima mentioned that yesterday in their brief Coil conversation. “He died.”

Clear’s hands tighten into fists. “Did Sato-san have to do it?”

“No. He went into shock.”

Clear accepts this news stoically and turns on his side, facing Mink. His pink eyes are unfocused, directed at Mink’s altar. Mink’s eyes follow Clear’s line of sight; the robot has never shown an interest in his tribal or religious artifacts before.

“Will you bury him?”

Mink’s eyebrows lift in a moment of revelation. So that’s what this was about. “He didn’t leave any instructions, but it seems he’ll be cremated.”

“His family?”

Mink hesitates for a moment. “He didn’t have any.”

Clear’s eyes move to Mink’s face, his brows drawn up in sorrow. “That’s sad.”

“Only for those left behind,” Mink replies. “If he didn’t leave anyone behind, then no one is sad.”

“He left Scratch behind, didn’t he?” Clear asks. “Isn’t that like a family?”

Mink scowls, straightening his shoulders in indignation. “A Rib team is a very poor substitute for a family.”

“But that’s all he had,” Clear muses out loud. “I suppose he thought of us as his family.”

Mink wants to correct Clear, to tell him what a family truly is. However distant his memories of them are, however indistinct his father and mother’s faces become—Mink knows what family is and it is nothing like a Rib team on an island owned by a mass-murdering megalomaniac.But the wistful look on Clear’s face stops him and he blinks for a moment before the inevitable question creeps into his mind: does Clear think of Scratch, _of him_ as family? The thought makes his blood freeze in his veins, makes the death wish in his heart shiver.

“Mink-san, if I can heal Koujaku-san, do you think I can heal Master?”

Mink sighs, trying to shrug off the sickening feeling settling over him. “I don’t know.”

“Master is special,” Clear says. “That’s why he’s my Master.”

Mink gives Clear a long, hard stare. “Whoever he is right now, he is not Aoba.”

“What do you mean?”

Mink shakes his head slowly, his feathers swinging. “It is difficult to explain.”

Clear’s eyes are trained on the ceiling, but that doesn’t stop him from reaching out one hand to touch Mink’s arm. “Please, let me try.”

Mink looks down at Clear’s fingers, resting on his bare bicep. The familiar touch makes his skin prickle. The desire to pull away from Clear’s touch is strong, but he suppresses the urge to shrink away _._ “You can help him by continuing your work with Koujaku.”

“Mink-san, you must let me try. I have to—”

Mink interrupts, his head bowed. “You’re no more responsible for his state than I am. The only one responsible for his condition is Aoba.”

“Master?”

“The power inside him took control of him somehow. He must have given up.”

“Master would never give up,” Clear states plainly. It’s his usual statement, his usual faith in Aoba, and Mink feels a moment of angry helplessness. Clear hadn’t even known Aoba that long before Koujaku and Aoba ran off to Platinum Jail, and he still had devotion like this. How could he possibly match up against such blind faith in another person?

Mink snorts softly. “Only a child deals in absolutes. An adult understands that things are rarely so simple.”

Clear frowns and he sticks his lip out in a pout. “You’re being mean, Mink-san.”

“I’m being honest.” He covers Clear’s hand on his arm with his own, the chains on his manacles jingling. “The world is never so kind as to make your choices easy ones.”

With a small tug, Clear pulls Mink down and presses a chaste kiss to his mouth. “I’ll sing for Koujaku-san again tonight,” he says quietly.

Mink nods slowly and stands. Clear’s hand trails down his arm and catches Mink’s, entwining their fingers.

“Let go,” Mink says, his voice low.

In response, Clear’s hand tightens against Mink’s fingers. Clear’s pale, gentle eyes meet Mink’s blue ones. He feels ashamed of the false color of his eyes for a moment in the open honesty of Clear’s gaze, but Mink only returns the hand squeeze gently and then murmurs, “Get more rest.”

As he closes the door, Mink finds himself face-to-face with the venerable Tae Seragaki, her expression cold and angry.

“Are you done playing soldier?” she snaps.

“Granny,” he says, walking past her.

“Don’t turn away from me, Mink!” she yells after him.

“Then walk with me. I have things that have to get done whether you want to talk to me or not.”

She keeps up with him, despite his long strides. “Well? Did you find him?”

Mink grunts. “In a manner of speaking.”

Tae stops in her tracks. “Is he dead?” Her voice trembles despite her anger.

Mink stops, turning to look at her. “Not technically,” he says, but as her shoulders move in a sigh of relief he shakes his head, “But he and Koujaku are not the same.”

“You got both of them?”

Mink snorts softly. “Of course.”

The lines in Tae’s face ease and she plants her hands on her hips. “Well, at least they’re together, then.”

Had they been together like that even before Toue’s manipulation of their minds? Mink lifts an eyebrow and Tae waves away the words like smoke. “It’s nothing. When can I see him?”

“Not now.” Mink continues walking, heading for the stairs with his hands tucked in his pockets.

“Then when?”

“I don’t know.”

“When are you going to know?”

Mink turns, his locks swinging and his jaw set. “I don’t know, _Tae_.”

The use of her first name instead of ‘Granny’ makes her mouth fall open slightly, and Mink can nearly see the iron in her will beginning to crumble. Her voice is thinner than he has ever heard it when she speaks again. “They’re bad, aren’t they?”

He nods grimly. “I won’t let you see them until I know more.”

“Will you kill him?” Even though her voice is soft, it doesn’t waver.

“He’s dangerous. To everyone. Even you.”

Tae blinks several times, her eyes staring straight at Mink’s solar plexus. “Are you saying he wouldn’t know me, who raised him?”

Mink puts his hands on his hips, looking at the diminutive pink-haired woman in front of him. “Do you really want to risk being Scrapped?”

She blinks again, licking her lips before looking up at Mink, lifting her chin defiantly. “It’s not up to you, is it?”

Mink snorts softly. “You’re just as much of a fool as your grandson,” he says. “I’m not listening to any more of this.” He continues down the stairs, his feathers dancing in his hair as he moves.

“Mink!”

“I’m not going to let a man kill his own grandmother,” he calls back up the stairwell.

As he passes the guards at the bottom, he mutters, “Don’t let her in here.” They nod, turning tense expressions up at Tae, who is coming down the stairs after Mink.

“Mink-san!”

“I’m serious,” he tosses over his shoulder, continuing across the cavernous basement toward Aoba’s holding room.

The guards outside the cat-flap cell look up as he approaches. Mink taps his head and they each pop out an earplug.

“I’ll be in there for five minutes. Anything longer than that and you should go get Clear.” He pauses. “Don’t shoot him unless you have to.”

They exchange looks and then put their shoulders to the crate, pushing it to the side. Mink removes the keys from his coat pocket and opens the door, tossing the keys to the guard.

The single fluorescent light above the mirror paints the tiled bathroom in an eerie yellow light. Aoba is perched on the edge of his cot, his slim legs crossed. He lifts his head, the red tassels on either side of his head shimmering in the dim light. “Mink.”

The vitriol in his name nearly makes Mink take a step back, even as he hears the turn of the key in the lock behind him.

“You’ve had quite enough fun, don’t you think?”

Mink narrows his eyes. “You still think this is fun?”

“Oh, I did at first,” Aoba said airily, lifting his hand and tossing his hair off his shoulders. “But that’s before I was shoved in a cell like a criminal. You’d understand, right?”

Mink keeps his face carefully composed. “We’re working on dealing with you,” he replies, refusing to take the bait.

“Dealing with me?” His voice is equal parts derision and curiosity, but Mink presses on.

“We’ll have to manage Koujaku first, but after that you shouldn’t be a problem.”

Aoba giggles suddenly, and the sound makes Mink’s stomach turn. “You can’t be serious,” he says, holding his sides. “Koujaku would never abandon me.”

“He’s not abandoning you,” Mink says. “If anything, he’ll be saving you. The real you.”

Aoba’s eyes harden into an icy stare. “You don’t have any way of ‘dealing with me’, Mink. I’m as much a part of Aoba as he is of me.”

“Then I’ll bring him out.”

“You can’t,” Aoba sneers. “He’s such a sad, pathetic excuse—“

“He’s the one who belongs here,” Mink says softly. “And you know it.”

Aoba watches Mink silently, his eyes following Mink’s movements as he takes out his pipe, packs and lights it, the fragrant smoke filling the bathroom.

“Nothing to say to that?”

“I’ll never go back,” Aoba says coldly.

“Being in control of him is out of balance. You know it can’t last.” Mink exhales again.

Aoba doesn’t reply.

Mink snorts a laugh as he knocks the spent ember out of his pipe and blows the ash away. “Scared?” When Aoba keeps his stubborn silence, Mink tucks the pipe away and crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re starting to wonder if there’s any way I can make the real Aoba come out.”

“I’ll kill you.”

Mink regards Aoba quietly. “Will you, now?”

He’s across the bathroom in two strides. Aoba isn’t ready for the first blow, or the way Mink’s hands lock around his white neck. His eyes widen and his lips curve in a maniacal grin, even as Mink feels his throat bob under his palms.

“I’ll….” Aoba licks his lips, pulling at Mink’s hands, trying in vain to loosen Mink’s grip. “I’ll relieve you of your foolish pride,” Aoba says, and it echoes against the inside of Mink’s skull like the inside of a bell. Sweat beading on his brow, Mink tightens his hands, gritting his teeth together, pressing Aoba down.

Aoba’s eyes seem to glow, golden in the low light. “I’ll destroy you… from the inside out…” he gulps, using his precious oxygen to hiss damning words into the air. The inside of Mink’s skull seems to set up a vibration and it takes everything he has not to lift a hand to his head, trying to still the way his mind is vibrating and trembling at Aoba’s voice. Mink picks Aoba up by his neck and shoves him back down into the bed, pressing his thumbs into Aoba’s throat.

The glow in Aoba’s eyes intensifies; the light of Scrap shining into Mink. “I’ll go inside…” Aoba chokes out, and then he stops, the radiance fading from his eyes, leaving them a dark gold.

Mink frowns. _His eyes…_ “Aoba.”

Aoba’s mouth opens and closes soundlessly as the brilliance vanishes. Easing up his hands, Mink lets Aoba suck in a great lungful of air. Aoba looks at Mink, his face suddenly placid. “Mink,” he says in a low, raspy voice.

“You’re not him,” Mink breathes, pulling away.

In response, Aoba’s eyes roll back in his head and flutter closed. No matter how Mink tries to rouse him, his deep and even breathing remains unchanged.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discussion must be had over what to do with the now-comatose Aoba. Do they let him die or give him back to Toue? After Tae reveals the true nature of Aoba and his brother, they're no closer to any solutions, and the recovery of an old friend may be too late to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: tigerine.tumblr.com  
> tracked tag: #tigerine
> 
> One more chapter after this one, I think, and then an epilogue. I want to try to get it finished before the anime premieres, so look for the last chapter soon! As always, thanks to my marvelous beta, Ari~

“Mink-san!”

“I’m fine, just check on him!” Mink steps to the side as Sato shoulders past him.

“How long has he been like this?”

“Less than a minute.” Mink flexes his hands, putting them to his head. Scrap doesn’t quite hurt in the way a physical blow hurts, but he feels like he’s been kicked in the stomach regardless. He lifts his head, looking at one of the Scratch members that is still standing outside the bathroom, staring into the dimly-lit cell.

“Go get Clear,” Mink orders, and he shuffles away over a few steps before turning and jogging toward the stairs.

“And don’t let Tae down here!” Mink yells after him. He winces at the noise he’s had to make, at the way his bones still vibrate with Aoba’s words. With a grunt of defeat, he sinks to his knees, planting his hands on the concrete and hoping that will make his head stop ringing and his stomach from turning inside out.

“He’s not dead,” Sato says from inside the bathroom.

“I know that,” Mink snaps. “Is there anything else you can tell me? Does he need a doctor?”

Sato steps away from the institutional bedframe and Aoba’s bedraggled body atop it. “You think we could get one?”

Mink grunts, tersely acknowledging what neither of them will say out loud. By now Toue’s got eyes on every facility in town, looking for someone to slip up and give him back his precious Scrap. If they have to move him now, if they can’t move with him in confidence, then…

“Just get Matsuyama. We’ll have to make do with him.”

“Yes, Mink-san!”

Sato hustles out of the bathroom, leaving just one guard and a weakened Mink outside the cat-flap cell. The door is wide open; Mink watches Aoba warily, one eye closed against the beginnings of a throbbing headache, but his body is still.

“Mink-san!”

Mink lifts his head up, and Clear is there, mask in place, jumping down the stairs three and four at a time. He fully expects that Clear will careen around the corner to check on his Master, but the android’s first stop is in front of Mink, crouching, his white boots picking up dirt from the floor.

“Are you alright?” Gloved hands reach for Mink’s wrist, feeling for a pulse, and Mink swats his hand away.

“I’m fine,” he mutters. “Aoba’s …something’s happened to him.”

Clear’s head turns toward the small, grubby room. “To Master?” The mask turns back to look at Mink for a moment before he stands up from his crouch, walking apprehensively into the cell.

The rest of Scratch begins to come down the stairs, harried cries of “Mink-san!!” echoing down the stairwell. Mink stands up, his palm still pressed to his head. Matsuyama and Sato shoulder their way through the band of miscreants, pushing them aside, carrying the duffle bag that serves as a makeshift first-aid kit.

He can feel the eyes of his team following his movements as he walks toward the bathroom door, leaning one forearm on the jamb and watching them pick up Aoba’s arms and try to pull him up into a sitting position.

“Master!” Clear has been shaking his shoulder for a full thirty seconds now, his cries growing ever more panicked, ever more pleading.

“Clear, please,” Mink finally interjects, interrupting the string of entreaties. “I have tried that.”

The noise of protest from underneath the gas mask is somewhere between a whimper and a complaint. “But Mink-san…”

“You’re not helping him like this,” Mink retorts, the sickening feeling of being nearly Scrapped fading, leaving just the pain behind.

“How should I help him?” Clear asks, and the distress in his voice is obvious. He is torn between watching to make sure that Sato and Matsuyama treat his Master with respect and wanting to help Aoba himself.

“Get out of there for now,” Mink says tiredly, leaning away from the doorframe. “We still have someone else we can work on.”

He turns to look at Scratch, facing their collective worry and he tries to keep his disappointment under wraps. With Aoba unconscious and looking worse by the minute, their plans will have to radically change if they want to take down Toue. The faces of these men that follow him, they’re determined, their jaws as set as their leader’s. They would follow him as far as death’s door, but Mink can’t ask them to go beyond it.

“Mink-san,” Sato says in a low voice behind him, and Mink turns back to the bathroom, moving aside so that Clear can get out. He nods to Sato, giving him permission to continue.

The blond and pale-green-haired man exchange glances. “He’s in a deep state of unconsciousness,” Matsuyama says slowly.

“Like a coma,” Sato adds helpfully.

“He needs to go to a hospital. Now,” Matsuyama mutters in a voice low enough that no one but Mink and these two can hear it. Mink looks at the form on the bed, the pale throat and snow-white hair, so unlike the Aoba he’d fetched from his grandmother’s house. Even now, all he can see lying on the bed in front of him is a tool, someone he can use against Toue.

“What if I leave him here?” he asks quietly, his eyes moving back to Matsuyama.

The green-haired man sighs. “If you want him to live, he needs a real doctor, not someone that dropped out of nursing school to be a drug mule,” he says testily, folding his arms over his chest.

If he lives, he’ll be back in Toue’s hands. Toue will have the power of Scrap again.  
If he dies…

“Get Tae down here,” Mink says under his breath. “And get the rest of them out of here.”

It’s time to make the decision he wanted to avoid.

He can hear Tae coming before she’s even all the way down the stairs, her wooden sandals clopping against the bare floors.

“Where is he??”

Clear steps back from Tae as she rounds the corner, his gloved hands held up in a gesture of appeasement. Mink turns to face her, but she shoves past him, walking to her grandson’s side. Clear walks up behind Mink, standing at his elbow, and together they watch Tae kneel next to Aoba.

“Has he been like this the whole time?” Tae says, her voice thick with emotion.

“No,” Mink replies. “This just happened.”

Tae’s gnarled fingers reach out for Aoba’s, wrapping his hand in both of hers and softly patting his knuckles. Clear’s mask turns up to Mink, as if he is checking Mink’s expression, and then he takes a step forward. “Tae-san?”

“Clear,” she answers, but says nothing more. Her eyes are on Aoba’s face.

“Um, you… don’t seem very surprised,” Clear stammers, nervously pressing the fingers of one hand into the palm of the other. “About…his color.”

“No.” She lifts one hand to brush Aoba’s hair out of his closed eyes, her fingers slipping through the crimson tassel on his temple.

“Why?”

The question comes quickly, leaving Mink looking at the android that’s been sharing his bed for a little over two weeks, and even with the mask on, he can see how fearful he is of the answer.

“Because he was like this when he was born,” she says softly. “He and his twin brother both were.”

“Twin brother?” Mink blurts out.

“Toue created them. They were part of his great design,” she murmurs. “He would have had them both if Aoba hadn’t died.”

“Died?” Clear’s voice is trembling.

“When they were born, they were attached through their hair. We cut them apart—“

The white-haired man takes a step forward, his hands lifted toward Tae in an entreaty for more information. “You were there? When Master was born?”

“Clear.” Mink shakes his head as Clear turns to look at him. “Let her speak.”

Clear’s hands fall to his side, his fingers clenching. It’s not a fist; Mink recognizes it as one of the helpless movements he does to still himself when there is too much he wants to say and he doesn't know the words to say it.

Tae looks at Mink, her eyes sad. “They were both stillborn, but when we cut them apart, the other one came back to life.” Her eyes drift back to Aoba and she smooths the folds of his robes, turning the cords and tassels and pressing them down on his chest so that they’re lying flat. “Toue kept that one and ordered us to dispose of the dead one.”

“Dispose of him?” Mink narrows his eyes. “Why not dissect him? Why not use him for spare parts?” The anger in his voice is sudden. He is all too familiar with Toue’s vindictive approach toward human life: if it cannot be used, then destroy it.

“What do you think ‘dispose’ means?” Tae says woodenly. “He was going to be cut up into pieces so small no one would ever know what he originally was.” She pauses for a moment before continuing, and even Mink finds his anger toward her softening.

“You saved him,” he says.

“I did no such thing,” she replies. “I kept a child from being cut up into small pieces instead of buried properly. I never intended for him to live.”

Clear is as stunned by this admission as Mink is, but Tae continues, “I took him out of the freezer and when he opened his eyes I nearly dropped him. I didn’t want to let Toue keep him. He had one of them. What did he need with two?”

Tae begins trying to stand, and Clear is at her side in an instant, giving her a helping hand as she finds her feet. “One way or another, he ended up staying with me,” she says. With a soft exhalation of effort, she dusts off her dress and then turns to look at Clear, and then Mink. “You may as well show me Koujaku.”

“Tae-san—“

“He’s in pretty much the same condition,” Mink interrupts. “He doesn’t talk and we don’t know if he will.” His eyes slide to the lenses of Clear’s mask and then back to Tae’s face. “If it changes, I’ll let you know.”

Tae folds her arms under her breasts, looking at Mink. “So what did you bring me down here for? To show me my grandson half-dead and his best friend not much better?”

“You’re a woman of science,” Mink replies, leaning against the doorframe. “You have to know what his chances are.”

“I know you won’t give him back to Toue,” she says, drawing herself up. “Even if that means he’ll die.”

Mink inclines his head and closes his eyes briefly in acknowledgment. He has no intentions of re-arming Toue with the power of Scrap. He can feel Clear’s eyes on him even behind the mask. Without a doctor, the chances of his Master dying—or never coming back from the depths of unconsciousness—rise by the hour.

“You’re not going to do any good like that, you know,” Tae says with a withering glare. “He’s still got the other twin.”

“Is it all right for you? To send him back to a life like that?” Mink asks with a cruel twist to his lips.

“You want me to choose what you do with him when you have already made it clear you won’t do what’s best for him,” Tae snaps back, fire in her eyes. “Don’t patronize me, Mink! I had quite enough of that from Toue, thank you very much!”

“I can try to sing,” Clear says softly. “It’s not much, but it’s helped Koujaku-san, and maybe—“

“Maybe it’ll bring him out of a coma?” At first Mink thinks that Tae is deriding Clear's offer, but it’s not derision in her voice. It’s desperation. She looks at Clear, the way his hands are out as if he is offering her a length of silk, and huffs a small, humorless laugh before looking at her grandson, pale and drawn on the narrow bed.

“You’re right about one thing, Mink,” she mutters. “If he goes back to Toue, it’s a death sentence that will take decades.” Her spotty hands reach down and curl around Aoba’s hand, holding it so tightly her knuckles go white. “He’s so young,” she whispers, her voice suddenly thick with emotion. Mink doesn’t have to see her face to know that her eyes are damp. “You’re asking me to choose if he dies now or goes to a living death, and I…” Tae’s hands shake as she rubs her cheeks and she shakes her head slowly, words failing her. She presses her hand to his lips as she walks out of the cell; Mink moves aside so she can pass through. Clear follows her out and together, he and Mink stand and watch her trudge back toward the stairs.

Clear looks up at Mink, and his voice is soft as he turns his head back to Tae. “I will sing for her tonight, Mink-san.”

“Don’t bother,” Mink replies, leaving Clear’s side to walk to the other side of the basement. His strides are slightly shorter, and Clear keeps up easily. “You have better things to do with your time.”

“She’s hurting.”

Mink’s patience is worn thin with all the surprises hiding in every hollow on his path to revenge. “Everyone’s hurting, Clear,” he replies bluntly.

For a moment, Clear sees Mink in the same bleak light as the morning before they stormed Oval Tower, a man who is driven to great lengths to achieve great things, and yet, is deeply tired of living them. He doesn’t think of Mink as a man who is empathic, who feels the pain of others as he would feel his own pain. But with this terse admission, Clear realizes that just because Mink chooses not to show pain doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it. The thought of how much might be hidden under that taciturn manner makes his heart shudder.

“What should I do, Mink-san?”

Mink sighs. They’re making their way over to Koujaku’s cell, and he fishes the keys out of his pocket. “Sing for him,” he says. “We know the song works on him.”

“What will Koujaku-san be able to do, though?” Clear steeples his fingers together, looking through the welded rebar at the hulking man dozing on the threadbare mattress. “He’s not a doctor, so he can’t help Master. He can fight, but what is that going to do against Toue or the other Scrap user?” Clear wraps his gloved hands around the bars. “At this rate, we’re not going to be able—“

“Don’t say it.”

Clear turns to look at Mink, and he’s shocked by the angry helplessness he sees in the lines on the other man’s face. He reaches up to smooth away the tense set of his jaw, but Mink moves his head out of the way, avoiding Clear’s touch. “Mink-san?”

Mink, tight-lipped, doesn’t answer. He simply opens the cell door. Clear stares at him for a moment more before slowly entering the cell. Mink shuts it behind him with an ear-splitting screech. He doesn’t wait for Clear to begin singing before turning on his heel and heading for the stairs.

He doesn’t lay eyes on Clear for the rest of the day, though he can hear the lull of his song, dampened by concrete. He takes a chance and attaches a Coil to the island network, pulling news stories down about their terrorist actions. The hunt for perpetrators is being stymied by multiple network failures. Mink reads the stories with a skeptical eye. There is something that has him uneasy, something about the facility with which they entered Platinum Jail and now, the ineptitude of the local law enforcement in investigating them. He’s still thinking about it as he takes down a bottle of water to Clear in the evening.

Clear is still standing upright, although Mink can see the strain that such constant singing has on him.

“Oi,” he says, opening the door with a screech. Clear finishes the note he is on, and then his shoulders sag and he turns to Mink, breathing labored.

“Look,” he says hoarsely, taking the bottle of water gratefully. “Koujaku-san is…”

His hair is dark all the way to the tips, and his body is not nearly as swollen as it was when they brought him here. His nails are still long, but his fingers no longer seem curled into claws, ready to scratch out eyes and carve furrows out of his men. Mink walks over to the mattress, looking closely at the shape of his lips, seeing no sign of the fangs that had menaced him a few days earlier.

“He’s better, isn’t he?”

Mink turns back to Clear, seeing him slump to his knees. A few strides has him at Clear’s side, and he pulls the mask up and over his head. “Drink,” he orders, and though Clear makes a noise of protest at his mask being removed, he doesn’t argue with him, still exhausted from singing all night the night before.

“You need rest,” Mink says, seeing the signs of fatigue in him.

“I don’t sleep, Mink-san,” Clear replies earnestly.

“I didn’t say sleep.”

Clear shakes his head as he drinks. “We don’t have time to rest, do we?”

 _We._ There it is again, Clear taking his place at Mink’s side, using a word that means together when Mink only intended for there to be a word that meant alone. But this time, when Clear says it, the cold feeling that made Mink’s blood drop in his veins is not so strong. Clear meets Mink’s eyes and he offers him a tired but genuine smile. Even if Clear’s sacrifice in the last two days pales in comparison to the sacrifices he's made on his own, it’s close enough. He doesn’t say anything, nor does he need to—the future with him looks longer than ever.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but if you’re done with that water, I could use some.” The scratchy voice comes from the mattress and Clear yelps, covering his face with his hands as Koujaku stirs, pushing against the wall to get into a sitting position.

Mink takes the water bottle from Clear, silently walking over and holding it to Koujaku’s lips. The half-naked man drinks as fast as he possibly can, guzzling down the water. He looks up at Mink with a weak grin, nodding his thanks. His red eyes sweep the cell—he looks at Clear, whose gas mask is back in place, then back at Mink.

“Where’s Aoba?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beni-Shigure and Scratch both celebrate the return of Beni-Shigure's head to something resembling a normal state. Relief and exuberance are short-lived, however, as Mink and Clear face telling Koujaku about Aoba's unusual unconsciousness. This is as far as they've gotten with their plan; what can possibly be done now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: tigerine.tumblr.com  
> tracked tag: #tigerine
> 
> So I thought I could finish it in one chapter and quickly realized that wasn't going to be possible for what I wanted to do, so you get another chapter + an epilogue. I will be posting the last chapter and the epilogue at the same time. I am also putting together an idea for a doujin/comic that explores an alternate ending. 
> 
> However, the Heavy Rotation cycle won't be over. I will be writing at least one more multi-chaptered fic that deals with what Noiz is doing during Carry That Weight. I also have plans to include one or two other one-shots. 
> 
> For this chapter, I owe a lot to tumblr user Harukami for providing me with much-needed suggestions on tightening up some loose areas of the prose. Thanks also to splitbricks for their beta~

Neither Mink nor Clear can answer him at first. The question seems unbearably innocent to the two of them, ignorant of the reality they’re facing. He’s just woken up from what must seem to him a long nightmare, and now he has to be told his best friend’s likely fate.

“Master’s here,” Clear pipes up. “But you can’t see him yet.”

“Can’t see him?” Even without the use of his hands, Koujaku tries to get to his feet. Mink immediately moves to push him back down on the mattress, his hand heavy on Koujaku’s bare shoulder.

“Take it easy, Red,” he rumbles.

Koujaku frowns, looking back and forth from Mink to Clear, suspicion already beginning to creep onto his face. Mink sighs roughly, his hand dropping from Koujaku’s shoulder. They are not ready to tell him yet; not when he’s just come to. Make sure he’s stable first. He’ll need to be stable for when he finds out. Mink pats his shoulder awkwardly, as if this will make him stay, and ambles back over to Clear’s side, offering him a hand up. Clear takes it, his gloved hand holding Mink’s tightly.

“Master is resting,” Clear says quietly, as if he is trying not to wake a sleeping babe. “It’s late in the evening and it’s been a long day for everyone.” Koujaku shifts on the mattress so that his knees are propped up in front of him and the chains aren’t pressing painfully into his skin. He looks doubtfully at them.

“Even if he wasn’t, there’s nothing you can do about it, Red,” Mink says, holding up the keys. “You don’t get out of here until we determine you’re no longer a danger to anyone around you. “

“Mink-san—“

“If you’ve hurt Aoba—“ Koujaku begins threateningly. There is a touch of pink in his sclera still, a still-fading bit of crimson in his hair. Mink lifts an eyebrow and folds his arms in front of his chest, squaring his shoulders. Clear looks between the two of them and waves his hands at them as if to separate them.

“Please stop, both of you! We don’t have time for fighting!” Clear’s head is directed down, but his yell is enough to give both Mink and Koujaku pause. Mink shifts his weight from one foot to the other and then grunts. Clear’s focus changes to Koujaku; he crouches next to him, his hands over his knees. His voice is soothing; it’s put Mink to sleep many times now, listening to the hum of his voice in his chest. A robot’s body, unsurprisingly, has a resonant quality different from flesh.

“Koujaku-san, you must be tired.”

“Clear, did he—“ His eyes dart to Mink and then he shakes his head, his ill-kempt hair falling around his shoulders. “Just tell me Aoba’s okay.”

Mink turns slowly. His eyes fall on Clear’s shoulders and he waits to see what Clear will say.

“You can see him tomorrow, once you’ve had time to rest,” Clear intones gently. “But for now, some sleep and a meal would go a long way to restoring you.”

“He’s right. You should focus on sleeping. Get your strength back.” Mink clenches the keys in his palm and turns in place, the tread of his boot scuffing the floor. “Sorry about the manacles. We’ll get someone in here to cut them off in the morning.”

Mink waits for Clear at the door to the cell, looking through the bars at Koujaku. Clear bows stiffly to Koujaku and then his eyes turn toward Mink, gauging his mood before hazarding any further offers to their wary charge. “Um, are you hungry, Koujaku-san?”

Koujaku nods, almost too quickly and Clear lifts a hand with his index finger extended, tilting his head as he speaks. “Maybe Kou-san could bring you something to eat?”

“Kou…” Koujaku frowns as the name leaves his lips, but light soon dawns. “Kou?!”

Clear turns to look at Mink, and even though he can’t see his lover’s face, Mink can feel the robot silently imploring him to agree. He sighs, the sound almost a growl out of his throat. “It’s fine. But,” he says, as Clear turns back to Koujaku, “Not for long. He still needs to sleep.”

As Mink and Clear mount the stairs, Mink catches the eye of Matsuyama, who is sitting nearby, picking his nails with the end of a knife. A word with him has secure Coil messages sent to all of Beni-Shigure and Scratch, and within thirty minutes, they’re sitting in the common room, some of them bleary-eyed with sleep. Mink and Clear both stand in front of their assembled number, and when Clear looks at Mink, Mink nods.

“Koujaku-san has awakened,” Clear says cheerfully, clapping his hands together.

The Beni-Shigure members greet this news with shock and then wild yells and hoots of excitement. A few of them stand as if to go down to the Clink and see their Head, but Mink shakes his head, motioning for them to sit down and taking out his pipe. “Before you see him, we need to put in place some ground rules.”

“Ground rules?”

The snap of the lighter as Mink lights the bowl of the pipe is loud in the room. “About Aoba. The way he’s told needs to be controlled.”

Kou looks back and forth at them and then shakes his head. “He’s gonna ask.”

“He already has,” Mink says, breathing out smoke. “It was the first thing he asked about.”

“Koujaku-san is very devoted to Master,” Clear says matter-of-factly, “But right now, knowing Master is in a coma won’t help him recover and may cause a setback.”

“I agree,” Matsuyama calls from the back of the room, and Mink nods, acknowledging the contribution of the single member with any medical training at all.

Beni-Shigure still sits largely in a group, although some members have become familiar enough with Scratch that they mingle with the ex-cons easily. Mink looks at them and he is satisfied with the group’s cohesion despite their different backgrounds. There has been almost no tension for the last month and a half, as Beni-Shigure saw the good Mink was doing on behalf of the teams, and Mink became less of an ex-con and more of a freedom fighter. Anyone else would say Mink is proud of them.

He knows Koujaku’s recovery threatens to dissolve that.

The members of Koujaku’s team look at each other and then back at Mink as a group, and Kou nods solemnly. “You haven’t steered us wrong yet,” he says. “We’ll go along with it.”

Mink inclines his head, and Clear is effusive, clapping his hands together. “Thank you, everyone!”

“He wanted dinner,” Mink says, looking at Kou and jerking his head toward the door.

Kou’s face lights up and he stands, weaving quickly through the milling Ribsters.

“Matsuyama!” Mink’s voice rises above the excited buzz, and the green-haired man makes his way forward to meet his boss, leaning forward when Mink motions him closer. “Tell Tae we’ll need her in the morning.”

Matsuyama nods smartly before turning and making his way out of the room. The remainder of Beni-Shigure is loudly discussing if they should risk venturing out to get Koujaku something good or just make do with what they have here. Mink doesn’t even have to speak up to say that they’re still under lockdown; Kou shoots the idea down. It doesn’t stop the entire team from going down with him to deliver food. Even as Mink and Clear retire for the night, the sounds of excited talking and cheering continue to echo up the stairwell.

The next morning, Clear’s fatigue is not so obvious, although to Mink, he still seems muted. They dress in a comfortable silence, already settled into a morning routine. Each of them is familiar with the space the other takes up, the sound of two drawing breath, and the creak of the bed under their combined weight.

There is already activity when they leave Mink’s room, a sense of energy that radiates from the very walls. More than one person, Scratch and Beni-Shigure alike, tells Clear “good work!” and claps him on the shoulder as they move around the hideout getting coffee and preparing the morning meal. Koujaku’s awakening is a bit of good news that they desperately needed.

The man himself is sitting up in bed talking with Kou, a borrowed kimono around his shoulders and a serious look on his face. Leg shackles that held him to the wall have been removed from his ankles, their locks sprung and the hinges slid apart. He’s balancing a bowl of rice with tea on his knee, lifting it to drink occasionally as Kou continues speaking. His right wrist is a dark, shiny red, the mark of someone who has been cuffed for weeks or longer; Mink’s own wrists have similar marks.

Hagima, a Beni-shigure member, works on Koujaku’s other shackle with a hacksaw; other tools and a pile of spent blades sits on the concrete, sawteeth bent and missing.

“Yo, Mink,” Koujaku says, his voice stronger than it was last night. “Kou has been filling me in what’s been going on.”

“Has he?” Mink says cryptically, trading looks with Kou.

“Yeah,” he replies, gesturing with his bowl at the black-haired man. “Kou told me you figured out what Toue was up to with the songs and then the lights. I didn’t think a guy like you would ever stick his neck out for anyone else—“

“Koujaku-san!”  Kou interrupts him, a serious look on his face.

“—and I’m grateful.” Koujaku’s voice is warm. “All of Midorijima is in debt to you.”

Mink’s face remains stern. He wants neither gratitude nor accolades, certainly not before Koujaku’s heard about Aoba’s condition. “I’m not doing anything for Midorijima,” he says, the emphasis making it clear that good things happening for Midorijima is simply a desirable side benefit.

“Ah, yeah,” he says, solemnly, a hint of caution back in his voice. “Kou mentioned that as well.” He looks at Hagima, sawing away at the manacle, and flexes his hand within it. Kou shifts uneasily in front of them.

Beni-Shigure’s members have become part of Mink’s band of terrorists, if not part of Scratch; they’ve had three solid months of camaraderie and nights of drinking stolen liquor with ex-cons. They trust Mink as a team Head because the men they drink with do. That Scratch’s efforts help Midorijima is immaterial; the escaped prisoners owe a debt of freedom to a ruthless man that they fear and admire. For Mink, it’s personal, and Scratch has never gotten more out of him than that, so if members of Beni-Shigure have been told anything, it’s a product of the Scratch rumor mill.

Clear steps forward and Koujaku’s face changes as his eyes flick back and forth between them. “It’s Aoba, isn’t it?” He sucks up the last of the rice porridge, letting it slide down his throat and then hands the bowl to Kou. “You’re going to tell me what’s actually happened to him.”

Mink nods.

“Got it!” Hagima’s hacksaw breaks through the last part of the shackle and he motions to Kou to help him provide leverage with a crowbar. Koujaku grimaces as the manacle creaks apart under the combined torque of two men. He pulls his hand through the opening as soon as he can, sucking air in through his teeth as the jagged metal presses against his shackle marks.

Kou and Hagima pick up their tools and with a pair of solemn bows to their Head, leave the cell.

“So?” Koujaku licks his lips, cradling his wrist, his brow knotted with pain. “How… what’s happened to him?”

Clear and Mink exchange looks. There isn’t a kind way to say it; it’s best to just get it over with as quickly as possible. “Master is in a coma,” Clear explains quietly.

Koujaku’s newly-liberated hand drops down into his lap, his shoulders sagging. “A coma,” he repeats numbly.

“As far as we can tell,” Mink says, moving to stand against one of the concrete pillars, slipping his pipe out of his coat pocket.

Koujaku stares at his hand. Kou cut his nails earlier at his boss’ request, clipping and filing the claws down until they looked almost like he’d gotten an actual manicure. He hadn’t been able to look Kou in the face while he’d done it, saying some nonsense about getting back to holding a pair of shears. The true reason is half-veiled in an uneasy haze of memories, recollections of being restrained to curb his lusts.

He wants to have hands that can touch Aoba without hurting him.

The hollow sound of footsteps approaching makes Mink turn to open the cell door. Tae steps through, carrying a tray in her hands with clean towels, hot water and wound-dressing supplies.

“Tae-san!”

Stress lines in her face ease as she looks at Koujaku with a weak smile. “It’s been a while, Koujaku.” She hands the tray to Clear and walks to Koujaku’s bedside. Koujaku hugs her, torn between tears and a broad grin; a small grunt creaks from her as he squeezes her tightly. “Don’t hug me so hard,” she fusses.

“How can I not? You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in months.”

“Koujaku!” Tae scolds him, but her smile broadens.

Clear kneels to her right, tucking his feet under his bottom and placing the tray next to the edge of the mattress. Without a word more, she picks up a towel and begins cleaning the raw skin of Koujaku’s wrists with hot water. In the quiet, Mink lights his pipe.

“Tell us what happened in Platinum Jail. “

Koujaku frowns, first at the scrubbing Tae is giving him and then at Mink’s question. “That’s a little—“ he protested.

“Koujaku-san,” Clear pleads, curling his hands into fists on his knees. “Master needs your help.”

The trickle of water over his hands is the only sound in the cell for nearly a minute, as Mink and Clear and Tae wait. Emotions pass over Koujaku’s face in waves: anger, shame, and finally, contrition. “We found someone from my past, someone responsible for a lot of deaths. We got into Oval Tower and I killed him, but—“ Koujaku’s head bows under their scrutiny.

“Does this have anything to do with your tattoos?” Mink asks, his fingers stroking the barrel of his pipe.

Koujaku freezes, looking at each of their faces, his mouth half open and eyebrows drawn together. “How could you possibly know?”

“They changed when I sang for you, Koujaku-san. While you slept.” Clear lifts his hands motioning with them. “The flowers were really big,” he starts, all the fingers on each hand splayed. “But as I sang, they shrank back. Your hair began to go back to your normal hair color, and your eyes…” Clear’s head dips slightly, and when he finishes speaking, his voice is a little cowed. “You were very terrifying, Koujaku-san.”

Koujaku’s eyes meet Mink’s briefly as Tae begins drying his skin. They only hold the contact for a moment, and Koujaku is the first to look away. “Y-yeah,” he admits finally. He can’t maintain eye contact with any of them. “It does have something to do with the tattoos.”

Mink leans up from the concrete column and walks behind Clear. Clear glances over his shoulder at Mink and then looks back at Koujaku. “Was he also involved in mind control? Like Toue?”

“If he was in Oval Tower, he probably worked with Toue,” Mink mutters, placing the pipe between his lips again. “It’s the same as Morphine.”

Clear nods in agreement. “I thought so as well, Mink-san.”

Tae begins to apply antibiotic to Koujaku’s wrists and wrap them up in dressings. She has yet to offer her thoughts on anything. The air in the cell is redolent with spice and smoke.

“What else?” Mink presses him.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s been over three months. What else happened?”

Koujaku stared off into the distance, finding a flaw in the concrete to concentrate on. “When I killed Ryuuhou, nothing mattered but that. I couldn’t think of anything but taking revenge. Not even,” he says, clearing his throat, “Not even Aoba.”

“He Scrapped you,” Mink states bluntly. “To try to save you.”

Koujaku smiles lamely, the kind of accepting grimace one gives when trying to accept hard news with dignity. “Yeah,” he croaks, his eyes suddenly wet. “Yeah.”

“You’re lucky,” Tae says, tearing off the end of the bandage and tucking in the ends. “He could have killed you.”

“Tae-san,” Clear interjects gently, conscious of Koujaku’s emotional state and fully aware of exactly who might have killed who in the confines of that cell. “Koujaku-san is—“

“Alive,” Tae snaps at Clear, her braids swaying. She sniffs disapprovingly before reaching for Koujaku’s other hand, slathering ointment on the sores from his shackles. “No one can do any good if they’re dead.”

Mink grunts an agreement, rolling his pipe between his fingers and dumping out the ash. He slips it back into his coat pocket, tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants, regarding Koujaku coldly. “What happened after Scrap?”

Koujaku shakes his head. “Nothing. I woke up and Aoba was passed out. They took us prisoner. The next time I remember seeing him, he’d…” His voice trails off.

“Had his color drained?” Clear prompts.

Koujaku nods slowly. “Over time it got harder and harder to see that face. He looks like Aoba, but he’s not. He would talk to me and say things…that I wanted to hear.”

At these words, Clear shifts uncomfortably on his heels. He does not know if Koujaku can remember what’s been happening the last few months, if he remembers the things that he and Aoba did together, if he can recall how Aoba was equal parts wanton and cruel. Clear twists his hands together, curling his fingers against each other, and remains silent.

Koujaku’s chin drops to his chest and he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “This all sounds crazy.”

“It doesn’t,” Mink declares. “I’ve seen him too. Aoba smells like destruction, and the other Aoba holds the power behind that destruction.”

“Smells like destruction?” Koujaku repeats, his eyebrow arching. “Oi, Mink, I’m being serious…”

“So am I,” Mink says, turning and pacing to the iron rebar that fences in the cell and resting his hands on the crosspieces. “The power that sleeps in him; I knew he had it months ago. I’d wager it’s been running wild since you were captured, doing whatever it likes.”

Koujaku is notably silent, but finally offers a small nod. Tae finishes her first aid, setting the rest of the supplies on the tray.

“So you’ve put your fate in his hands once before and he failed you,” Mink says, his hands tightening around the bars.

“If he didn’t know what he was doing, then of course he failed,” Tae interjects and Mink lifts his hand to silence her.

“I’m not accusing him of anything, Granny,” he retorts. “But the fact is he—“

“If Master failed at Scrap, then what did he fail at?” Clear says, cutting through the increasing tension between Mink and Tae. “What did he fail at understanding about Koujaku-san?”

Mink turns in place and his eyes slide from the back of Clear’s head to Koujaku’s face. “I think….whatever it is, that’s what you need to do to break him out of the coma.”

“What?”

“It’s not a normal coma,” Mink continues, walking forward to stand next to Clear. “The one I spoke to seemed furious at the thought that the other Aoba could be brought back. He was terrified that anyone might be able to make it happen. Before he passed out, his eyes changed color. Back to hazel.”

This is what Koujaku and Aoba both need now; if Mink doubted the nature of their relationship before, Koujaku’s admission that the ‘other Aoba’ told him what he wanted to hear resolves those doubts. Mink realizes he is looking at a distorted mirror of himself, at a man who was so driven by revenge that he put someone he loved in danger without a thought for the consequences. He gambled and lost.

_What might I have done in that situation? Would I have known what I stood to lose in that gamble and done it anyway?_

Clear cranes his neck back to look at Mink. “What does that mean?”

Mink looks down at him, searching the mask, and even though he cannot see Clear’s face, something passes between them. An understanding of what it means to be vulnerable and admit that you need someone. Without Mink, he would never have had the chance at getting his Master back at all. Mink’s dependence on Clear is far more than simply needing his Jellyfish Song to counteract the Grand Music. Mink needs Clear because Clear is the only one who reminds him that he is human.

Putting Clear in danger is a risk he no longer willing to take.

Mink levels his unflinching stare on Koujaku. “He’s still in there. The real Aoba. He’s fighting to take control of their body. He needs you.”

Clear reaches up and takes Mink’s hand. Mink doesn’t flinch away from the contact or change the way he’s looking at Koujaku; after a moment, his gloves creak as he tightens his hand around Clear’s.

Koujaku’s lips part, ready to shoot holes in their theory, but nothing comes. Deep in his heart, he hopes that he can see them again, the hazel eyes he’s longed for so many times over the past few months. Before he even puts voice to words, he knows that he can’t abandon Aoba.

“When can I see him?”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mink and Clear help Koujaku to the cell where Aoba is being kept, hoping that something can be done to bring Aoba back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: tigerine.tumblr.com  
> tracked tag: #tigerine
> 
> The "last chapter" proved to have enough material for two, so I've divided them accordingly.

Mink loosens his grip on Clear’s hand. “You can see him right now.”

“Really?”

“If there’s anything we’re short on, it’s time,” Tae grumbles. She pushes herself up and then picks up her tray, walking to the cell door.

“Tae-san.”

At Koujaku’s voice, she turns in place. “What is it?”

“If… If Aoba doesn’t wake up,” he stammers. His eyes can’t quite rise to meet Tae’s face.

Tae inhales a breath and then sighs. “Don’t look for trouble when it hasn’t come yet.”

“But I—“

“You’ll do your best, Koujaku,” she replies as Mink steps over to the cell door and opens it for her. “You always have done, for Aoba.” With this pronouncement, she walks out the door, the hollow clop of her sandals echoing through the cavernous basement.

“Koujaku-san, do you need help to stand?” Clear offers, and Koujaku grunts an assent, taking Clear’s hand as he lurches to his feet. A noise of consternation leaves him as he struggles to get his balance; it’s obvious he doesn’t like being helped or pitied, but he sags against Clear, grateful for the support. Mink watches them from the door, judging Koujaku’s strength from the way his legs seem to have problems going all the way to the ground.

“Can you walk?”

“I can do it,” Koujaku pants, his brow furrowing as he straightens his legs. “Just haven’t… had to in a while.”

Mink glances at Clear, and he is sure he sees the android’s head shift slightly to return his look. Without the blood rage that gave him so much strength, Koujaku is as weak as a newborn kitten. Minutes pass, and Koujaku becomes steady enough to stand on his own, though the tendons in his ankles are flexing constantly to keep him upright. He slowly moves forward away from Clear, squaring his shoulders, his sandaled feet sliding over the concrete. His steps are unsteady, and his hair sways back and forth as he walks to Mink.

Mink watches him walk, his face impassive. Koujaku reaches the doorway and only rests for a moment against the doorframe. Clear is already behind him, his hands extended, ready to catch him if he stumbles, but it isn’t necessary. Koujaku exhales hard through his nose and then straightens.

“Take me to him.”

Mink leads the way, walking ahead through the empty space to the cat-flap cell on the other side of the basement level. Koujaku lurches through the yawning space between him and his goal, focused on the door that Aoba is behind. As he gets closer, Clear lowers his arms, seeming to sense that Koujaku doesn’t need his help. Even if he does, there is determination enough in Koujaku’s face that tells him that even freely offered help wouldn’t be accepted.

Mink shoves the crate aside to get the keys into the deadbolt on the cell. Clear pulls it further away from the cell door, watching Koujaku as he stands a little back from the threshold. The squeal of the hinges as it opens echoes out into the vast space. Koujaku’s throat bobs as he swallows, his eyes unfocused and distant, staring into the cell without seeing what lies within.

Mink walks in, eying the crumpled form on the bed warily. He lowers two fingers to Aoba’s bruised neck, letting them rest for a moment against his skin. He turns back, the keys jingling in his hand as he reaches into an inner coat pocket and produces a Coil, one of the disposable ones they used for their mission to Oval Tower. He takes Koujaku’s hand and presses it into his palm.

“What’s this for?”

Mink steps aside and the path into the cell is open. “We’ll be upstairs. Call us when you’re done.” He hesitates for a moment, as if he is going to say more, to remind him of the stakes. It is not hyperbole to say that the fate of modern human civilization may rest on whether Koujaku can call Aoba up from the depths of his mind in the next few hours. But the hungry look on his face tells Mink he doesn’t need to say anything. For Koujaku, there can be no higher stakes than Aoba himself.

Koujaku’s eyes flick to the keys in Mink’s hand. “You’re going to lock me in?”

“No choice, Red. I won’t risk my men.” His face doesn’t change and Koujaku nods grimly as he puts the Coil around his wrist. A man in Mink’s position could not help but see enemies all around him.

“…I understand,” Koujaku replies, his tone resolute. He steps into the cell, not quite able to look at Aoba yet, and his eyes remain locked with Mink’s until the door is closed. The lock being turned is loud in the bathroom and Koujaku leans back against the door, covering his mouth with his hand. The ballast of the fluorescent lamp has nearly failed; the buzz fills the small cell as Koujaku finally allows himself to look at the face of the man he loves.

Aoba is in poor condition, his skin seeming nearly translucent, as if he is fading away. His hair is slightly knotted and clearly hasn’t been brushed in days. He’s still but for the rise and fall of his chest. The robes are the same as the ones in Koujaku’s lust-stained memories. The red cords remind him of viscera, trailing from one side to the other. He’s seen them all too often in the past, accompanied by Aoba’s moans and cries of pleasure and pain. Koujaku shakes the image away. Thinking of that won’t do him any good now.

Aoba’s robes can’t completely hide all the abuse that he’s been through. Dark red blotches encircle his neck, and Koujaku frowns; these are marks that he couldn’t have inflicted while restrained. Were they from their capture? Did Mink do this to him? No, he didn’t do this to Aoba, but to the “other Aoba”, the one who’s been controlling their shared body for months.

He leans forward and takes Aoba’s hand, curling his fingers around it, a small sigh escaping him, like that of a man who has finally gotten some good news in a year full of bad. The skin is cool against Koujaku’s, his nails still neatly manicured from the Tower’s attentive servants. He rolls his thumb over and between Aoba’s knuckles, relishing the feel of being able to touch him like this.

“Hey, Aoba,” he says, and his voice wavers at first, but it gets firmer as he continues. “We’ve gotten into a real mess, haven’t we,” he asks, then shakes his head. “No, we’ve been in a real mess. Ever since that night in Oval Tower, we’ve been in the biggest mess of our lives. “

He swallows against the lump in his throat. “I know I lost my cool there, and… that probably had a lot to do with us getting captured. “ He offers Aoba’s body an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that.”

Trying to rid himself of the tight feeling gathering in his nose, he blinks quickly. “Mink rescued us from Oval Tower, you know? And Clear… he pulled me up out of the darkness. The two of them working together seem like an odd pair, but there must be something that keeps them together.”

Koujaku watches Aoba’s face for any signs of life, but his chapped, pale lips don’t move and his eyes are still beneath his eyelids.

“If they hadn’t come, we’d still be like _that_ , just taking pieces out of each other without thinking. They gave me a chance to say what I really mean, hoping that you’re listening. So even if I lose control again, I’ve said what I feel. I’m okay with dying, if it comes to that.”

He pauses, gathering his thoughts. His eyes unfocus slightly as he sifts through his memories, looking for words that will convey what he feels. It has the air of a man at a wake, emptying his heart before the casket is closed, before his chance to make his thoughts known is gone forever. Koujaku makes a pathetic figure on the floor, kneeling at Aoba’s side, but he is willing to throw his pride away for this. He has to say what he means or lose the chance altogether.

“After they took you away, I didn’t see you for a long time. When you came back, you were different. I was different. Everything became this haze of red.”

Koujaku’s hand tightens around Aoba’s. “Being with you like that was… Sometimes there would be moments where I could see you and know how much I was hurting you. But the red just washed over me again and I couldn’t do anything.” He lets out a shaky breath. “I didn’t want to do anything. I wanted to be with you no matter what, even…even if it was just like that. “

“It’s funny, in the beginning I said a lot of things to try to get through to you, but I didn’t think that anyone else could understand what it was like to be a monster. Then you said you were sorry—you, not him— and I knew. Even past all the blood and…everything else, I knew.” He huffs a small, humorless laugh as he looks on Aoba’s drawn features. “I guess we’re suited for each other.”

Aoba begins to waver in his vision, turning into quivering, wet light. He lifts Aoba’s hand and presses his lips to it. Tears slide silently down his cheek when he blinks to clear his eyes, to make Aoba recognizable again. “I’ve always watched you, even since we were kids. Now, I know that I thought you were a girl at first, but you’re so pretty that I don’t think anyone can blame me.”

He reaches out with his free hand and touches Aoba’s face, sliding the backs of his scarred fingers over Aoba’s bone-white cheek. “You’re still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” He loses these last words in a breathless sob, his face screwing up into a grimace. His grip is tight enough that his knuckles go white and Aoba’s fingertips begin to purple. Koujaku presses his forehead to the back of Aoba’s hand and his shoulders convulse as the thought of losing him takes hold of him fully, digging into his gut like a dagger.

The bone-shaking sobs, quiet and suppressed as they are, make him feel sick, his body so fully denying the loss that it would reject any nourishment he’s taken in as well. He gasps to suck in air, his grief-bitten lower lip springing free from his teeth. Breathing hard for a few moments helps; the sheets smell of dust with a faint memory of bleach. One breath in and out, then two, then three. He counts them, and at thirty-seven breaths, he picks his head up.

Aoba looks the same as he did before, and Koujaku presses his lips together, inhaling through his nose, tears falling freely as he closes his eyes. His grip on Aoba’s hand relaxes and he begins to stroke Aoba’s knuckles again. He clears his throat, but leaves the tear tracks on his cheeks; he’ll have time enough to compose himself before using that Coil.

“Mink and Clear are going back to Oval Tower again, to fight Toue, but that’s not where I belong,” he says, his eyes on their entwined fingers. “I’m going to stay here with you until… until the end. Whether the end is in a few days or we get old and gray and die together, I’m here. Whatever we’ve been through, whatever we go through from now on, I will never leave you.”

Koujaku leans on the edge of the bed, getting to his feet, only to rest his hip against the edge of the bed, tucking his hair back behind his ear. Sickly light casts sharp shadows in Aoba’s hair, on his face. He’s calmer now that tears have fallen; his voice doesn’t shake. “I love you, Aoba.”

Saying it out loud doesn’t change anything. The bathroom is still quiet, the whispers of their breathing broken only by the occasional sniffle from Koujaku. Aoba’s face hasn’t changed, his lashes still downswept. Koujaku leans down and presses his ear to his chest, listening.

The rush of air in and out of Aoba’s lungs is not unlike the sound of waves crashing on a beach, the thrum of his heart a deep and ancient rhythm that Koujaku has known since before he was born. His mind is set adrift by the exhaustion of one who has made peace with his future, whatever it may be. In time the movement of his thoughts, in and out, carries him away like a gentle tide bears off a ship with loosely tied moorings.

He dreams of leaving Midorijima at his mother’s side, of her demure mauve kimono and retiring smile. Gulls slowly wheel away from the boat and back toward the island, their laughing cries disappearing in the great openness of the sea. The dream shifts; in his father’s house, Koujaku longs for the ocean birds’ raucous cackles, because the sea, the blue, blue sea, reminds him of Aoba, and the dark rocks raked into swirling patterns in the garden cannot compare.

The dream shifts again and he is on the sea, but this time he is alone. It smells like salt and water, and the combination makes him feel unbearably sad. Then the sky is dark and wind pushes torrential rain against him, soaking him to the skin; the waves which would be meters high at the shore make him pitch and yaw, but he feels he must keep his eyes on the horizon, looking for some sign of land. He feels something at his feet and looks down.

A snow-white gull lays on the deck, exhausted, its wings only partially folded and beak half-open. It makes a weak noise as Koujaku touches it, pinching his fingers hard in the crook of its bill. But Koujaku doesn’t let go, and carries it into the cabin, stroking its chest.

“Koujaku—“

He sits bolt upright, his eyelids snapping open. On the bed in front of him, Aoba’s breathing is different, uneven, and for an instant he fears the worst, that he is watching the person closest to his heart take his dying breaths.

“Couldn’t breathe with you laying on me,” Aoba rasps.

His eyes flash to Aoba’s face, to his lips, slightly pink, and the hazel eyes he knows and loves so well, blinking sleepily.

“Aoba…?”

Something shifts next to his leg; he reaches down and takes Aoba’s hand, and shock gives way to profound relief when he feels the squeeze of his fingers answered. “Aoba!”

“ _Kaba_ ,” Aoba answers, and Koujaku pulls him into a bone-crushing hug, his hands roaming over Aoba’s back, as if feeling him to make sure this is real, that it’s not part of his dream. Tears well up in his eyes again, lining them with silver.

“You came back,” he sobs into Aoba’s shoulder, rocking against him. “You came back..!”

Aoba is nearly limp in his arms, but he manages to weakly curl his arms around Koujaku’s midsection, leaving them draped there. Koujaku pulls back and pushes Aoba’s hair back from his eyes, and for a moment he’s terrified to say anything, scared he will break the spell. He slides his fingers over those white cheekbones and Aoba leans into his touch like a bird finding shelter in the hollow of his hand, his eyes closing.

Aoba’s lips move tiredly. “Me too,” he wheezes, his fatigue obvious, and his eyes close for a protracted length of time before opening again, steadily meeting Koujaku’s. “I love you.”

“You heard that?”

Aoba smiles weakly and simply answers with a slight nod, a little bit of color rising to his cheeks. Koujaku’s shoulders rise and fall as he loses his tenuous grip on his composure, leaning forward to kiss Aoba hard, first on the lips and then on his cheek, and a half-voiced sob leaves him as he clutches Aoba to his chest.

The insistent chirping of a Coil shatters the silence in the bathroom, echoing off the tiles. Koujaku looks at it, and the number is listed as unknown. He looks at Aoba and then, he answers the call.

“Mink?”

“Ah! They picked up?” Clear’s voice is distant in the background.

Mink sounds as if he has been hounded into making this call until he had no choice but to do it. “Clear says he can hear his master—“

“Aoba-san!”

“—Aoba. Says he can hear him talking.”

Koujaku looks at Aoba, who is looking stronger with every minute that passes, and then offers him the Coil. His strong arm supports him around the back as Aoba leans forward to speak into the Coil. “Tell Clear I’m okay now.”

The sound of Clear’s excited cries are hardly muffled by his distance from the Coil. There is a moment where there is a repetitive noise, accompanied by a small ‘oi’ from Mink and followed by an insistent ‘The _keys_ , Mink-san!’ Aoba lifts his hand and covers a small giggle that threatens to burst out of his lips, and then quiet comes over the call again for a moment before the slam of a door.

“Red,” Mink says.

“Yeah?”

“Clear’s on his way down to let you out.” He pauses and then sighs, but his voice doesn’t sound irritated at all. “Pretty sure everyone knows now.” And he closes the call. As if on cue, Koujaku and Aoba hear the sound of dozens of footsteps approaching the cell at a gallop, and then the hurried clatter of keys against the lock.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regardless of the outcome of Koujaku's time in the cell with Aoba, Mink will strike at Toue again in the morning, for what he hopes is the final time. The night before is a time for honesty--with himself and with Clear.

Upstairs, amid the excitement and the rush of both Beni-Shigure and Scratch members down into the Clink, Mink stays on the couch and quietly fills his pipe. He lets himself smoke it without thinking of anything else but the future, just for the space of a few shallow breaths between fewer deep ones.

When he finishes the bowl, he dumps the ash onto the floor and lifts his Coil to make another call.

“What is it?” Noiz’s voice sounds tired, as if he has only gotten snatches of sleep here and there. Mink narrows his eyes, having never heard Noiz sound so taxed, but decides not to press the matter.

“We have Aoba back.” Mink pauses. “And conscious.”

“I figured.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Noiz says dismissively. “You didn’t call me _just_ to tell me that.”

“No,” Mink concedes. Noiz was always a piercing intellect, and to find himself examined by it doesn’t make Mink uncomfortable, but it does make him feel slightly paranoid. He doesn’t like when he doesn’t control the flow of information, and relative to Noiz, he is nearly constantly at a disadvantage. “You were an asset for our last mission, so I’m asking you again. We are moving on Toue again in 24 hours.”

A sound of surprise comes over the call. “Oh? So soon.”

“Can you help?”

Noiz snorts softly. “That’s cutting it close, but I can probably manage something.” He sounds entirely confident that it won’t be a problem. Silence stretches between them until Mink sighs irritably.

“Not going to name your price?”

“I don’t need money. You still owe me a favor for those schematics.” Noiz pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is gravely serious. “I need you to do something when you kill Toue.”

Mink’s brow creases in a frown. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and washes his hands together pensively. He hadn’t ever spoken of what he was after to Noiz, hadn’t mentioned that Toue’s death, not his downfall, was his ultimate goal. “Name it.”

“Destroy his Allmate chip.”

Noiz’s voice is cold and embittered, like he’d like to be the one to wedge a knife into Toue’s flesh and carve it out of the old man himself. Mink stares at the screen, at the seconds ticking away on the call timer, and then he hums an agreement. “Consider it done. You won’t come with us?”

“No,” he says, and there is the sound of shifting weight on fabric. “I have … someone that needs me.”

Mink’s eyebrows lift slightly in surprise and then a hint of a smile touches his lips. “Understood.” Just as he closes the call with Noiz, the door slams against the wall and Clear careens into the room, his coat flapping around his knees. His hair is a flyaway mess despite the mask holding it down.

“Mink-san!” He runs to Mink, catching him and clinging to him. Mink looks down at Clear, gritting his teeth as he’s squeezed in a bear hug. With a light touch, Mink’s arms slowly encircle Clear’s shoulders. “He’s okay,” Clear mumbles behind his mask, the end of the words just a muffled breath in his voice. “He’s really okay.” Clear’s hug tightens around Mink, and the mask digs into his chest.

“Don’t mean to interrupt,” a voice says lamely from the door. It’s Hagima, and he looks sheepish as Clear slowly pulls away from Mink, looking up at him for a moment before turning to face Hagima.

Clear sniffs under his mask and then folds his hands in front of him, summoning up a confident, cheerful voice. “It’s fine, Hagima-san.”

Mink, seeing that the moment with Clear is over, lifts his head and indicates with a nod that Hagima should speak.

“They’re gonna bring him up here, if that’s okay with you.”

Mink nods again, more deeply. Hagima’s face breaks out in a grin, and he all but sprints down the dark hallway, the slap of his sandals echoing down into the stairwell, with a jubilant yell at the end.

Mink looks down at Clear, and then turns him slowly in place, lifting the mask. Clear’s pink eyes are damp, and his face is even blotchy, perfectly emulating human behavior and physiology even while crying. Mink reaches up and smears one of the wet streaks, drying it. The touch seems to set Clear off again, with fresh tears welling up in his eyes, his lips pursed together as he tries to hold them back.

“I said I would do what I could.”

Clear nods, a smile breaking out on his face as the tears come despite his best efforts. “When Mink-san puts his mind to something, it’s sure to get done,” he croaks, rubbing at his cheeks with the heel of his hand. He hiccups once and then a laugh breaks from him at the noise, a small squeak that turns into giggles. The relieved laughter spills out of his mouth, and Mink can’t help but smile in response. Clear steps forward, pressing his face against Mink’s chest, wiping his tears on his shirt.

Mink accepts the embrace again, but then grunts, stepping back to put some distance between them. “We still have a lot to do, Clear.” He smooths down Clear’s hair and puts the mask back in place. “Getting Aoba back makes some of it easier, but it doesn’t change anything.”

Clear nods slowly, checking his mask to make sure it’s in place, before following Mink as he leads the way out of the room. He takes up his position at Mink’s side as they walk down the hall to the main room. A buzz of activity in the room rises and falls, punctuated by frequent laughter; there is already a smell of rice cooking and oil heating, the scent of an impending feast.

They stop just in front of the doorway, watching the hobbling procession come up the stairs at the other end of the hall. Ahead of them is Kou, his back to Mink and Clear. He only sees them as he turns to enter the room, and the smile on his face would have to be measured in megawatts. Beyond him are Aoba, his arm around Hagima’s shoulders, and Koujaku walking next to them, his hand on the wall. Aoba’s white robes are still hanging on him, his hair still like a shock of ice, but his eyes are a dark gold. “Mink,” he says.

“Aoba,” he replies, his tone distant.

They stand on either side of the shaft of light that spills out of the main room, regarding each other. Mink’s eyes slide over his robes, over the dark splotches on his neck, a stark contrast to the color that is returning to him slowly. He steps back and nods to the room, indicating that they should enter first. The victory that’s been had today isn’t Mink’s, but Koujaku and Aoba’s.

As Aoba crosses the threshold, the entirety of the room erupts in cheers and applause, with loud whistles and occasional hoots of celebration echoing loudly in the room. Aoba looks a bit sheepish, but his smile is broad, and becomes broader when Koujaku takes his hand to lead him to the large table on one side of the room, where Tae is seated. Mink and Clear step in behind them, hovering near the doorway. A hush descends as Aoba shuffles through the room on bare, white feet.

In the brighter light, the roots of his hair are already showing a slightly bluish cast, as if dipped in blue watercolors. Koujaku, still slightly unsteady on his feet, keeps his arm wrapped around Aoba’s shoulders as they approach Tae. Her hand is pressed firmly over her mouth, eyes red and wet, the lines in her face already moist. She gets to her feet as he approaches, a bit of damp tissue in her hand. Her lips are trembling.

“Granny…”he says, his voice relieved and happy.

“Aoba,” she sobs, her voice failing her. She all but collapses against him, her hands smoothing over his wrinkled silk robes and the room breaks out in applause again. Aoba holds her close, rubbing her back, his cheek resting on the top of her head.

Mink is silent, watching the assembled ranks of Beni-Shigure and Scratch. This is what they’ve all risked their lives for, to have a fighting chance against Toue. On Mink’s intuition and orders, they’ve fought and, in one case, died. Together, the two Rib teams cheer again as Tae pulls Koujaku into their hug. Seeing Mink’s plans borne out gives the Scratch members a tremendous sense of pride. Seeing their Head walking next to Aoba, laughing and smiling, fills Beni-Shigure members with deep gratitude towards Mink and Scratch; he has kept his word and more. For both teams, their morale is higher than at any point in the last three and a half months.

Mink clears his throat, and first the Scratch members fall silent, shushing the others who couldn’t hear him in the applause, and the Beni-Shigure members follow suit within a matter of moments.

“We’re moving again tomorrow,” he says, his voice projecting and filling the room. “Toue is still unbalanced from our work a few days ago. We must act now or lose our advantage.” He looks around all the faces directed at him. “Everyone is going, including Sajima’s team. Be ready for 0700 hours.” Mouths draw into grim lines, and their eyes sharpen under heavy brows. “Until then, do whatever you want.”

A final cheer goes up in nearly a single voice with almost military precision and gusto, and the room is filled with the excited babble and discussion of men on leave. Someone has held back a keg of beer from one of their more enterprising thefts and it’s rolled out and sunk in a trashcan full of ice. Tae immediately does an impromptu medical exam, to the best of her ability in a crowded room. Finding nothing wrong with Aoba, she finally relents and lets him relax and eat.

The celebration, such as it is, lasts much of the day. Scratch and Beni-Shigure set upon Mink, demanding rooms for Koujaku and Aoba, and Mink tells them to set them up in one of the offices on the other side of the broken down racquetball courts. They have a grand procession, chanting and carrying beds up the stairs before heading back to the main room for more food and drinking.

Koujaku leaves the main room in the early evening to smoke and finds Mink out in the darkened hallway, looking over schematics on his Coil. The scent of his pipe lingers in the corridor, spicy and floral, unlike the sharp sourness of tobacco smoke.

“Want one?” Koujaku offers the pack of cigarillos to Mink, who leans forward and slips one out of the cardboard box.

“Where’d you get these?” After lockdown, cigarettes had become more and more rare and valuable, despite their inclusion in materials stolen from Toue.

“Kou had them,” Koujaku replies as Mink lights his with a match and then offers the flame to Koujaku. The flame dances over the tip of the cigarillo and then Mink shakes the match out, dropping it on the floor and grinding it down with his boot as he closes the screens at his wrist.

They smoke in silence, Koujaku licking his lips and staring at the whorls of smoke as they issue from the ember. The tobacco hisses as it burns, their slow exhales filling the silence between them. Koujaku looks up at Mink, shaking his bangs out of the way so he can look at him directly with both eyes.

“It means a lot to me. You taking care of my team.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” Mink replies, resting back against the wall and holding the cigarette between his thumb and first two fingers, the same way he holds his pipe.

“No,” Koujaku says slowly. “No, of course you didn’t. But even if you didn’t intend it, you’ve really done a lot for me. Kou, Hagima, Tae, and Aoba… they’re my family, you know?”

Mink lifts an eyebrow, smoke slowly blowing out of his nose with an accompanying rumble of acknowledgment. He flicks the cherry away with his ring finger and then takes another drag. “Tomorrow. It goes without saying that I need Beni-Shigure.”

“You have them,” Koujaku replies, his red eyes steady on Mink’s.

“I don’t want to take you, but I need everyone capable of fighting.”

“You think I might turn on you?”

“You’re not at full strength yet, but we can’t afford to wait longer.” Every moment further away from the bombing is one moment closer to being captured, when their luck will run out and they’ll start to really gamble with whether Toue’s back on his feet or not.

Mink leans up from the wall. “There’s one other thing.” He slides the half-burned cigarillo between his fingers and then speaks slowly, his eyes on the thin ribbon of smoke that rises from it. “If I don’t make it to Toue, or if I can’t kill him, I need you to do it for me.” He looks at the ember, glowing brightly because of the breath he gave it. “If Clear tries, he’ll—“ Mink can’t finish the sentence, and lamely bounces the hand holding the cigarillo, as if he cannot decide whether to try to speak or smoke. His eyes are distantly focused on the movement of people within the main room, seeing and not seeing them.

“I get it,” Koujaku says, nodding. “You don’t want to lose someone important to you.” Mink doesn’t reply, but the lines in his face seem to deepen and his jaw tenses. Koujaku lifts one eyebrow in amusement, finding some small pleasure in having found a weakness in Mink. “Did you think it was a secret?”

Mink grunts noncommittally, tucking the cigarette between his lips again, the end flaring orange.

“You look at him—“

“—the way you look at Aoba.”

Mink’s eyes flick to him and color floods Koujaku’s cheeks, obvious even in the low light. “Is…. am I that obvious?”

“Yes,” Mink answers, ignoring the obvious conclusion that follows that answer, that he is just as obvious in his affection for Clear.

“Well, guilty as charged.” Koujaku chuckles, tucking the cigarillo back in his mouth, though he’s nearly down to the point where it will burn his fingers. He takes one drag off of it and then another, stubbing out the last part of it on the lower part of the wall. “What are you going to do when this is all over?”

Mink puts his cigarillo out as well, dropping the butt on the ground and stepping on it. “I’ll worry about that when Toue’s dead.”

Koujaku sighs, taking lazy steps toward the main room again, before turning to address Mink. “You seem to have a very final way of thinking about things, so I’ll be direct: don’t leave Clear alone.” Mink moves like he’s going to follow him, but Koujaku’s words stop him in his tracks. “He wouldn’t take that mask off for just anyone. If I hadn’t seen that, I… well, I might have judged you more harshly. You’re someone he cares about. Don’t let that go easily. He deserves better.”

Mink folds his arms across his chest, his brow creasing. “Are you finished?”

Koujaku hesitates, like he’s _not_ finished, but then sighs. “Yeah.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

Mink turns and begins to amble away from the main room, from the low din of conversations and the occasional peal of laughter. He hears the momentary block of sound as Koujaku re-enters the room, the scuff of his sandals fading into the ambient noise. A moment afterward, there is a swell of laughter and cajoling encouragement. Festive babble and the clink of bottles echo down the hall; they sheet off of Mink’s back like rain. A turn down the hallway towards his room is enough to silence almost all of the remaining racket, but his single set of booted footsteps suddenly seems over-loud. He stops for a moment, listening; the noise of the party is lost in the ambient vibrations of the concrete around him and the drone of the fluorescent lights. One of the lights flickers with a click and a buzz; the ballast is going bad, and there is only the faintest hint of light at either end.

“Mink-san!” The call echoes down the hall and then the calm is interrupted by Clear’s lively gait pattering down the corridor. Mink doesn’t turn to greet him. “You’re leaving?”

“Going to bed,” he says, beginning to walk again. Clear hesitates for a moment, turning to look back at the main room, the lenses of his mask reflecting the light down the hallway onto Mink’s retreating back.

“I’ll come with you,” he announces, and Mink stops again, turning just as Clear takes off his mask, shaking his hair out. He trots up to Mink, a gentle smile on his face, and takes his hand, bringing him along towards his own bedroom door. Mink submits to this without a word.

In the room, they sink into their established habits. Mink undresses silently, leaving his clothes folded up on the chair and his coat draped over the bed. Clear watches Mink intently, hanging his gas mask on the corner of the chair and setting his boots next to Mink’s just so. The scarf he folds carefully, putting it with Mink’s things; their possessions have become as intertwined as their owners, resting in a comfortable heap together.

After Mink has taken his hair down and stripped down to just his underwear, he eases into bed and Clear smiles, ready to perform even after such a tiring day. He opens his mouth to sing, but Mink lifts a hand to stop him. “Not tonight, Clear.”

“Eh?”

“I don’t want that tonight.” Mink’s eyes slide to the table full of his people’s artifacts and then he looks back at Clear, his gaze hooded. “Just come to bed.”

Clear’s eyes flick to the table, to the candles that Mink let burn less than usual this morning. His smile fades a little, but he shucks his pants and shirt and turns out the light, sliding under Mink’s thin blanket, his back to Mink’s chest. After a beat, Mink’s arms enfold him, and he presses a soft kiss to Clear’s shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, but Clear has become good at recognizing the difference between silences that mean the end of a conversation and silences that mean things are unspoken. Given a patient listener, even a taciturn man like Mink will find it possible to speak the things that he might otherwise not say.

“Last night,” Mink says quietly. “You lied to Red about Aoba sleeping.”

Clear doesn’t say anything for several long moments and then a soft noise of acknowledgment leaves his lips. “I didn’t tell him the truth.”

“A lie of omission is still a lie.”

“I don’t like doing it, especially when it comes to Master—Aoba-san--and Koujaku-san. But,” he adds, pillowing his head on his hand, “what good would have come from telling him the truth then?”

“You still made a choice to lie to him, the same as you did when you told Tae you couldn’t hear Aoba.”

“Yes.” Clear shifts in bed, turning to face Mink.

“You’re not calling him Master anymore either.”

“That’s…” Clear trails off, and when he speaks again, he sounds crestfallen. “I’m programmed to respond to his voice when he calls.”

“It’s _his_ power that compels you. The other Aoba.” He pauses briefly. “The same as Toue.”

The space in their conversation is filled with the sound of the blanket rustling as Clear draws it up over himself, gathering it in his fists and hiding behind it. “Yes. Toue’s voice has the same power to it, so I…have to hear him.”

“But you chose to have Aoba as a Master, rather than Toue. And now, even that has disappeared?”

“He did things,” Clear says haltingly. “Though he is— _was_ —my Master, the things he did weren’t right. To Koujaku-san.”

“Plenty of men do things that aren’t right in service of a larger cause,” Mink murmurs. “How do you know if the cause is great enough?”

“I…”

“How do you know when someone has done something that can’t be forgiven?” His voice is steady and dispassionate.

“I don’t think—“

“How do you know if someone is worth your trust?”

Clear thinks of the conversation in this bed from weeks ago, where Mink first said Aoba was broken and putting him down was the kindest option. He remembers the man who was shot in the tunnels beneath Platinum Jail, hearing Mink’s voice in his ears: only evil men make others suffer. “I just know,” Clear says in a small voice, shrinking into himself, holding the blanket against himself like a shield. “I…I just do.”

At first, Mink doesn’t respond. Clear looks up at him, seeing the somber expression on his face despite the darkness. The quiet presses in on them; Mink’s eyes are moving as they would over Clear’s face, though he cannot see anything. Mink sighs out slowly through his nose.

“You’re still here with me.” His voice is pensive, as if he is thinking out loud over the phenomenon of Clear’s presence. Clear slowly lowers the blanket and slides closer, tucking his head up under Mink’s chin. Without hesitation, Mink’s arm drapes around him and holds him close.

“Are you nervous?”

“Mmm.” It is a non-committal sound, but that from Mink is as good as acceptance.

“Why? When we went to Oval Tower before, you were ready for anything.”

“I have something to lose now.”

“Something to lose?”

Mink’s arm tightens around his shoulders. “Yeah.”

Even though he doesn’t need to breathe at all, the blunt admission makes Clear suck in a deep breath. Mink’s hold on him doesn’t change, even as Clear shakily lets the breath leave him. “You had that much to lose before, Mink-san.”

“When you left to go to him, to Aoba…”

“Yes?”

“I thought that everything was over.” Mink’s eyes have shifted; he is staring beyond Clear now, at the ceiling, at a sky he can’t see.

“Even when he was in Oval Tower… like that, Aoba-san couldn’t look at anyone but Koujaku-san. Now that he is better, it is even more obvious. And,” he pauses for a moment, licking his lips. “Aoba-san would never order me to leave someone I love.” Mink’s eyes move back to Clear, a discerning look creasing his brow. Clear props himself up on one elbow and looks down at Mink. “My place is with you.”

The words hang in the air like smoke.

“You’ve chosen that, too.”

“Eh?”

A small smile splits Mink’s lips. “You chose to love me,” he says, and he nearly garbles the unfamiliar word as it leaves him.

“…So I have,” Clear replies, settling back down into the sheets, wrapping his arms around Mink’s waist.

Mink wraps his arms around Clear, possessive and protective as he presses his lips to the crown of Clear’s head. “I don’t want to lose anything important to me again.” When he speaks, his hot breath fans Clear’s hair, but it’s the words he says that makes Clear shiver. “Toue killed my family and everyone I knew. Those he didn’t burn alive he took with him. There’s not anything left of _them_ to bury.” Clear shifts, looking up at Mink, but Mink continues, the corners of his mouth drawn down. “I didn’t think there was anything left for me.” Clear’s hand covers Mink’s, lacing their fingers together. The sweep of his thumb over the back of Mink’s hand is the only movement, but it is simple and soothing enough.

“Mink-san.”

“And then the man who destroyed everything I loved happened to make you.” His hand cups the back of Clear’s head, clasping Clear close to his chest. Clear remains silent as Mink’s fingertips press against his scalp, tensing and curling as if he would make a fist without Clear there to stop them.

Slowly, Clear lifts his hand to cover Mink’s, and all the breath in Mink’s lungs rushes out at once, like a dam has broken. He sags against Clear, an Atlas momentarily relieved of his burden, and Clear holds him, helping to carry that weight.

“Clear.” Mink sounds exhausted, but at peace.

“Yes?”

“…whatever tomorrow brings, we’ll handle it.”

Clear’s hands press him closer. “Together?”

“Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it. That's the end; the epilogue will be forthcoming. If you think that I didn't wrap up all the loose ends, including what happens with Toue, you're right. So I'd like to invite you to read the other half of Heavy Rotation, Dark Eyed Mender (Noiz/Sei), which I am beginning now and will post as it's completed. 
> 
> I want to thank tumblr user mayonaka-hibiki, for sitting through my babble about this idea nearly a year ago now. I also want to thank my steadfast betas, tumblr users splitbricks and harukami. Without them, I don't think I would have been able to finish. 
> 
> I also want to thank those tumblr users that have produced fanart for this fic--the response has been more than I could have imagined, but everything I dreamed of. I cherish each piece that I find; it means that I have inspired you to create something, and that is a very great honor indeed.
> 
> Lastly, thank you for sticking with me. This fic is longer than Animal Farm or Macbeth, and is basically a short novel. It has taken you a lot of time to get this far, and I am so humbled that you spent so much of your time with me.


End file.
